Sheepskin
by Rebellwithoutacause
Summary: It was supposed to be just another job. Just another hunt. Just another bit of distraction. But all of that comes crashing down when the face Dean's been longing to see mysteriously reappears, and this time, he's not going to let her get away without getting a few answers of his own. M for later chapters.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hello lovely readers. I have another offering for you. This time it's a multi-chaptered, actual plot story. You could call this the sequel to my first SPN fic 'Crazy On You' but it's not absolutely necessary to read that if you want to understand this, but it would be helpful. Hope you enjoy this, let me know with reviews what you think =) **_

_**Warnings: Crazy On You was rated M for sexy times. This is a pattern that shall continue, but, I stress again, this isn't a PWP. So enjoy =) **_

_**Disclaimer: Yeah, still don't own Supernatural. Darn. **_

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><p>The rumbling of the Impala eased off as Dean cut the engine and swung himself out into the parking lot, stretching his legs for the first time in six hours. Even though it was early fall it was still very warm out thanks to the fact they were down in the south of Texas, in the damn desert practically.<p>

"I'm telling' ya Sammy, a little bit further Southwest, we could totally cross the border, swing down to Cancun, Tijuana, have a lot of fun down there." He leaned up against the car and then tipped his head back, stretching the kink out of his neck while Sammy hauled his bag out of the back seat of the Impala and slammed the door shut.

"I told you, Dean, there is no way we're going to Mexico. We'll get flagged by the feds the second we set foot anywhere near the border."

Dean rolled his eyes. "You are such a buzz kill, you know that?"

"Then at least I haven't lost my touch." Sam shot him a sneaky look over the roof of the car and Dean tipped his head to the side in agreement.

"Ok, first things first, there has got to be decent barbecue around here somewhere. I have been craving a greasy pork sandwich dripping in sauce the size of my head." At that moment Dean felt his stomach growl with such ferocity even Sam's eyebrows flicked up, disappearing into his bangs.

"What? I told you I was hungry two hundred miles ago."

They approached the cheap motel they'd decided to stay at and Sam leaned closer to him as they headed for the door. "Dean, we're running low on money. We can't risk the credit cards, not now."

Dean shot his little brother a look that clearly said he was not in the mood to argue. "We gotta sleep somewhere, Sammy, and I am not bunking in the Impala, I don't feel like having my neck bent out of shape for the next two weeks."

Sam however wasn't budging. "Yeah, I figured you'd say that." His lips quirked a bit and Dean knew that look all to well.

"Sam. Sam, what did you do?!" He immediately fumbled for his wallet and dug through it, finding all the credit cards were gone.

"Cut them up in our last room and tossed each little bit out the window on the highway." A positively evil smirk had etched its way onto Sam's face and as he saw his brother's befuddlement he couldn't help but laugh far more than was probably appropriate, but he loved to get one over on Dean. It was such a rare occasion, he couldn't resist savoring it.

"You are an evil bitch, you know that?" Dean growled as he dug the last bits of cash he had left and stalked into the motel, leaving Sam practically rolling on the dusty pavement of the parking lot.

"Room please, at least three days, maybe longer, we'll renew if we end up sticking around," Dean told the clerk, an older man with very thin tufts of white hair sticking up in odd places, his beard a darker silver by the name of Walter Greene according to his name tag.

"You fellas might not want to stick around for even that long, the way things been going lately," the clerk said as he dug through box of keys.

"Oh really? Why's that?" Dean could still hear his brother's laughter from outside and he found himself thinking of ways to get him one back. The next chance he got he was so shaving half of Sammy's head. See how far he got with the ladies with half his precious hair missing. The return of the clerk's voice yanked Dean out of his thoughts.

"We got ourselves some wild animal on the loose. At least that's what the police say, but I don't think that's what it is. Three kids been killed in the past six months, all out on highway 39 coming into town, the last one was only a week ago. Sheriff says it's some rabid coyote or someone's dog that got loose, but I don't buy it." His bushy brows furrowed behind his Coke rim glasses as he set the key onto the counter.

Dean snapped into hunter mode. That was the whole reason him and Sam had come down here in the first place, a rash of bizarre killings by some animal that nobody seemed to be able to explain. They were thinking maybe another werewolf or vampire had gotten loose and was terrorizing people, and Dean was congratulating himself on walking into their first lead.

"What do you think's out there?"

"You wouldn't believe me, kid," Walter muttered.

"Oh I've seen some things," Dean said with a cocky grin. Sometimes his arrogance played to his favor with old people, thinking they could show him up. Other times, Sammy's ridiculous puppy dog eyes and floppy hair could melt even the most frigid hearts. Very useful on terrified damsels in distress, even Dean had to admit.

Walter's watery, slightly red eyes narrowed at him with distaste. "You wanna know what I think? I think something unnatural killed those kids. Something the police are covering up." He lowered his voice even more and Dean had to lean in to hear.

"I think a chupacabra got them."

Dean's eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. He snorted with laughter and snickered a bit as he passed Walter the cash. "You're right. Don't believe you. This room has what, one king size bed?"

Walter nodded. "Unless you needed something else?"

Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam heading back in, bags in tow, and smirked to himself. "Nope, this'll do just fine, thanks very much Walter. Oh, and by the way, maybe want to keep that spooky story in reserve for the campfire and cowboys." He scooped up the key off the counter and beckoned for Sam to follow him to the room at the end of the hall.

"Dean…what the hell, one bed?" Sam whined just as Dean dove onto the mattress and sprawled everywhere.

"Yep, and it's all mine." Dean kicked off his shoes and rubbed himself down over the sheets and blankets, sighing contentedly just to annoy Sam who when he looked up was definitely scowling.

"So not funny, Dean," Sam growled dropping his bag onto the floor and shutting the door a bit harder than was strictly necessary. "Now that guy out there probably thinks we're…"

Dean sat up with a smirk on his face that was practically dripping off and splattering onto the bed. "Think's we're what, Sammy?"

Sam rolled his eyes and started to stalk towards the bathroom to clean himself up after an all day drive but Dean wasn't done messing with him just yet.

"Aww, don't go away mad darlin', I didn't mean it! Here, you can even have the remote." He tossed the plastic device at Sam's feet who just snorted and walked away, leaving Dean to pick up the remote and flick on the TV.

"Hey, how much is pay-per-view in this place?"

A couple hours later, after picking off the last of an excellent batch of curly fries and a barbecued bison burger of all things, Dean and Sam were doing probably the least fun part about their job, copious research. Digging through old newspapers, any police files they could get their hands on, and anything the dear old information superhighway might be able to tell them.

"Alright, so, three people dead inside of six months, all of them supposedly killed by some kind of animal, all of them teenagers, all of them picked off on highway 39." Sam's brow had that slightly furrowed look he'd get when concentrating. He dug through several newspapers, finding the oldest one on the table and laying it in front of Dean, sweeping off some seasoned potato crumbs and tapping at a circled article highlighting the report on one of the dead kids.

"Could be a serial killer?" Dean said with a shrug. "I mean it fits the pattern. Same type of victims, same place, same method of being killed. Doesn't have to be supernatural."

"Come on Dean. The reports say that these kids were mauled by some kind of animal."

"So what? Thinking a werewolf moved into town and is picking off the kids?"

Sam exhaled a concentrated sigh and eased back in his chair. "Wrong time of the lunar cycle. Plus the hearts were still left. In pieces, but left."

"Vampire?"

"I don't think so. Remember the case we worked with Dad? The victims go missing first, and then turn up dead. They keep them around for a while to get as much blood out as they can."

Dean's jaw twitched. "Yeah. I remember." Sam could see the way his older brother's eyes hardened. Clearly the glass jar labeled 'Dad' was still a very touchy subject with Dean. Sam didn't necessarily blame Dean for that, they had hunted together for a lot longer than Sam had; he knew Dean felt like he'd failed their father in some way. More than anything he wanted to try and help Dean come to terms with the fact that their old man made his own choices and that Dean wasn't responsible for anything that happened, but Dean wouldn't let him get that near. Come to think of it, Dean never let anybody get that near. Too much like his old man in that respect.

"Ok, so if it's not a vampire or werewolf, what else. Zombie, maybe?"

Sam's eyebrows disappeared into his bangs. "That is just a really bad shot in the dark and you know it. Zombies don't do this. They do the bidding of the people who bring them back. They don't actually eat people. That was just Romero and his legions of followers."

"Strange how the creator creates an army of loyal minions like that," Dean muttered absentmindedly, scanning through the article Sam had circled. "Ok, first victim, one Ricky Martin, sixteen years old, goes out for a drive, is headed back to town on highway 39, car breaks down, heads down the road towards town, next morning highway patrol finds him looking like road-kill." Because of the boy's age Dean knew the press was limited but the tone of the article said it was gruesome. He shrugged his shoulders and glanced up at Sam who was reading another paper.

"Yeah, and then two months later another boy is killed, Peter Baker. Same circumstances except his car didn't break down, it was just found on the side of the road. His body was found next to the car, torn to bits." Sam's brow furrowed even more as he arched up over the table. "Dean, check this out. Says here that there were gouge marks in the hood of the car. Like something had clawed it."

Dean tipped his head to the side. "The guy who checked us in, Walter, said that there's a kind of local legend about a chupacabra. But they don't normally go after people, they prefer livestock."

"Not always. There are plenty documented cases hunters know about where chupacabras take people."

"Yeah but don't they normally just drain their blood? Not tear them to pieces?" Dean shifted uncomfortably in his chair, staring down at the mess of research, feeling the typical 'haven't worked through the sticky parts of the case' headache start to form at the base of his skull.

"Maybe the kid put up a fight and that's why it ripped him to shreds. Maybe they all did," Sam muttered quietly. Dean could tell his brother was disturbed by the idea that whatever was out there was attacking kids.

"Think it could be a hellhound?" Dean questioned.

Sam dug through more papers and clicked a few buttons on his laptop. "I don't think so, I mean, hellhounds come to collect on souls that made deals with demons. None of the victims are a day over eighteen, they'd of had to make a deal when they were between six and eight years old." Sam twisted his laptop around and showed Sam a picture of the local high school football team. "Martin played ball but he didn't have spectacular talent. None of these kids were especially remarkable or had any out of the ordinary talent, not that I could find."

Dean bit his lower lip as he racked his brain for information. "Ok, so hellhound is doubtful, so are vampires, werewolves, and zombies. Chupacabra maybe but really all we know is that it seems like the kids are the ones who are the targets. I mean no adults were killed were they?"

Sam shook his head. "No. And I can't find any common denominator amongst the victims either. They all lived in different places, had different groups of friends, at least from what I can tell on paper."

"There has to be some connection," Dean muttered, frustration growing in the pit of his belly. He wouldn't ever really admit it, but he enjoyed the challenging hunts, the ones where it took a while to get the bottom of it, and then he could finally waste that son of a bitch that was trying so hard to get away with whatever horrible scheme they were up to.

"The only thing I can find that they all have in common is they were killed in the same place, and they went to the same school. But then again, every kid goes to that school, it's the only one in this tiny town, and highway 39 is the only way in or out of this place."

Dean dug out the map they'd been using lately to get around this section of Texas and unfolded it and set his fingernail onto highway 39, letting it trace towards the small dot that marked their current town, Cross Plains, Texas. He picked up a red Sharpie off the side of the table and uncapped it.

"Whereabouts were they killed?"

"Uhh…well Martin was here," Sam nudged the line about six miles out of town on highway 39." Dean marked the spot with a small x with the marker. "Baker was further away, about nine miles." Another x. "And Jessica was about here, ten miles out."

"So they were all killed ten miles outside of town, give or take. What else is out there? Maybe it's not the kids or the road, maybe there's something else out there."

"There's nothing on these maps, maybe we should drive out there and check it out," Sam suggested. Dean shrugged and grabbed the Impala's keys off the table and Sam clicked the computer shut and shrugged into his jacket before following Dean out the door.

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><p><em><strong>Oh, I should also mention, all the logistics of the story (names of places, people, etc) are entirely arbitrary and any similarity in name with actual places or events is entirely coincidence. <strong>_


	2. Chapter 2

"Man it is freaking dark out here. This would be a really bad place to break down," Dean commented as they drove along highway 39, Sam tracking their position with the map, trying to pin down where or what they might have been looking for between Dean's x's and the world outside.

"Yeah it is," Sam said, finally setting the map and flashlight aside, cutting off the light so its glare didn't disrupt their vision. Not a single streetlight was posted anywhere along this stretch of road, the only light coming from the Impala's headlights and the thin crescent moon swaying over head.

"Stars are visible though." Sam's voice was soft, almost reverent.

"Yeah, and?" Dean asked.

"Well some cultures believe that if the stars are misaligned it causes bad luck." Sam's eyes were still glued towards the sky, taking in the rather magnificent swath of black canvas over their heads. With the lights of town long since faded in their rear view mirror, the stars were so bright and numerous it looked like a dusting of diamonds on black velvet cloth. It really was beautiful. He couldn't say that sitting next to his ultra macho big brother, but he could still appreciate it in his own mind.

"Man there is nothing out here but scrub and dust," Dean muttered as they continued driving.

"We're almost ten miles out," Sam said, noting the odometer and the map from memory. "The same stretch was where the kids were killed."

Dean tensed a little in the driver's seat, ready and waiting for something to come slamming into them, for some sign of the supernatural to smack them upside the head. He glanced out of the corner of his eye towards Sam. Whether Sam or anybody else liked it or not, he had a gift with sensing this sort of thing. It served them well in cases like this when they were literally stabbing in the dark but Sam was relaxed, or as relaxed as one could be while straining to see something that probably wasn't there.

"Anything?" Dean asked, switching his gaze back to the road.

"Nothing man," Sam said with a heavy sigh. He glanced over the hood of the car and suddenly sat up straighter. "Wait, wait a second. Slow down, angle the lights to the left."

Dean eased up on the gas pedal and turned the car practically into the other lane, sweeping the broad headlights over the vast darkness of the desert and that's when he saw the flash of something in the distance. Dean hit the breaks and steadied the lights and watched as the beams illuminated a farmhouse way off in the distance, maybe at least a half a mile.

"There's no turn off…nothing," Sam noted. "Why would there be a house way out there with not even a dirt road to get to it?"

"I dunno man but this is seriously giving me the heebie jeebies," Dean muttered, not yet turning off the car but keeping his eyes fixed onto the house. Sam shot his brother a look, eyebrows once again disappearing into his bangs.

"Heebie jeebies? Really?"

Dean snorted. "What, like this doesn't seem weird to you." He shot his brother a knowing look.

"Well duh, Dean, of course it seems weird. But look at what we do. Since when do we deal with the normal?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "Alright, alright, let's go."

He angled the car off the road and took the Impala into the dusty desert, the tires chewing broken slate and shrubs until the headlights were cast directly onto the farm house which had definitely seen better days. Despite it made them stick out like a sore thumb, he left the lights on to give them light to see by as they climbed out of the car.

"And by the way, you're washing and waxing the dust off the car when we're done. Getting my baby all dirty like this, it's shameful," Dean pouted.

"You and Dad with the damn car, I swear," Sam muttered. They both checked their pistols and made sure they were fully loaded and paused before approaching the house.

"Think we need the rock salt shotgun?" Sam asked softly as they walked towards the derelict porch.

Dean shook his head. "If there was a ghost here the car would be going haywire. I think whatever this thing is isn't a spirit."

They stepped up to the porch and spread out on either side of the door, holding their guns firmly, readying themselves for a fight. Adrenaline stole its way through Dean's veins, filling him with that edgy sensation where he was just ready to start swinging. You'd think after doing this job for basically his whole life he'd be sick of the fighting but he wasn't, not really. It was the only thing that seemed to clear his mind, even for a few brief seconds. Either that or when he was in bed with whichever fine specimen of the female variety of the human species he could get his hands on. He would have been content to let his mind wander on that same train but Sam shot him a look that said to get a move on, so he wrapped his hand around the doorknob and slowly cracked the door.

Both brothers tensed even more. If there was something in this house, something trying to keep people out, opening the barrier was usually a good way to rile it up and make it show itself. Dean let the door swing wide open but nothing happened. The lights on the car remained steady, there was no crackling from the radio, nothing to indicate there was a pissed off spirit in the area.

Dean took the lead and crossed the threshold, still on his guard. Just cause nothing came screaming through the door didn't mean this place was empty. He held the gun steady and confident out in front of him, flexing his fingers over the grip, ever so lightly caressing the trigger. In his world the gun wasn't the ultimate power, but damn did it feel good in his hands. He exhaled and swept the front room, determining it as empty and deserted, his ears practically twitching when he heard the sound of Sam's boots behind him, following in his footsteps just like their dad had taught them.

The room directly through the front door immediately opened to what was probably a kitchen or dining room, it was difficult to tell in the dim lighting. Off to the side was the living room and further in was a hall that led to several other rooms. He and Sam worked as an efficient team and swept the ground floor, noting that there was a staircase off to the side of the living room.

"Anything?" Dean asked as Sam carefully made his way down the hall.

"No, nothing," his brother called back as he came back into the front room with Dean. "This place is covered in dust, I don't think anyone's been in here in years. Hell, the front door was unlocked."

Dean didn't answer at first. Something on the floor had caught his eye, right in the middle of the hall Sam had walked down. He squinted to see in the bad lighting and dropped into a crouch.

"There's a break in the dust," he muttered, motioning for Sam. "See?"

Sam nodded, noting the square outline that was barely visible in the darkness. "Root cellar?" he asked.

"Something like that. Probably a tornado cellar. We are in the ally after all," he noted.

Dean was about to work to pry the trap door open when they both heard a sound that immediately made their blood cold, a long lonely howl, somewhere between the cry of a wolf and a hound on the hunt. Immediately both men lunged to their feet and flicked the safeties off their guns, running outside towards the sound.

In the distance on the highway they could see that there was another car parked not from where they had turned off. In the murky haze and half blinded visibility thanks to the headlights it was almost impossible to see but Dean swore he could make out two shapes heading towards them.

"What is that thing?!" It was a teenage boy's voice, pitched and terrified. Another howl sounded and Sam and Dean raced forward.

"Chris!" A female teenager shouted. "Chris run!"

The howl wafted over all their heads and now Dean and Sam both could hear the wet, snarling sounds. They took off at a mad dash, finally able to make out the shapes of the two teenagers, a young blonde girl and the boy, Chris, running like hell towards the highway. They both screamed in fright when Dean called out to them, the girl tripping on a piece of scrub and tumbling into the dirt.

"Hey, hey, it's ok, we're here to help!" Sam soothed, racing over to the girl and helping to pick her up. "Behind you!" Sam shouted to get his brother's attention, the training beaten into him by his dad all those years warning him not to use names, just incase they had to come up with fake ones to match IDs later.

Dean whirled right as they heard the snarling again. He turned and was faced with a monstrosity, some animal the weight of a Saint Bernard and the height of a Great Dane, thickly muscled, covered in pitch dark fur, red eyes that glowed like hot coals in its rounded skull. Triangular ears were laid back as its fur stood completely on end and it's lengthy muzzle opened to reveal sets of wicked, dripping teeth.

"Move!" Dean yelled, raising the gun. Sam yanked the girl out of the way and Dean peppered the dog with bullets. They hit but didn't do the slightest bit of damage. No yelping, no blood spilled, only vicious snarling that grew as loud as a car stereo cranked to high, they seemed to just pass right through.

The dog leapt at Dean and slammed him into the ground, two massive clawed paws hitting him straight in the chest. They gouged lines into his chest, ripping his shirt to shreds as Dean raised his arms to shield his face, trying to roll away but the weight of the massive animal held him down until suddenly it was gone. Dean rolled, scrambling up to his knees, raising his gun again out of instinct as the dog leapt clean past him and started after Chris who had been standing there, shocked and numb, watching the unfolding disaster. Now, as the dog approached him, muzzle dripping spittle, another howl sounding from the monster's throat, he turned tail and run.

Dean went running after the kid as fast as he could and he could hear the sound of his brother's footfalls right behind him. "Catch!" Sam yelled.

Dean twisted mid run, almost like he was trying to snatch a hail-Mary football out of the air but saw that it was his sawed off rock salt gun that Sam must have had the sense to retrieve from the trunk. He caught the heavy gun in his hands, cocked it back, and aimed a blast straight at the dog. Even though the animal's back was turned and Dean's aim had been dead on, the dog took a flying leap right at that moment and the shot blew clean under it's legs, missing its target.

A bloodcurdling cry sounded as the dog landed on Chris, bringing him down the same way a wolf brings down a deer. Wet, gurgling screams erupted and Dean took another shot at the animal that was ripping Chris to shreds right in front of him, but before he could get a shot off the animal whirled around and snarled at him, blood coating it's face up to its brow bones, glowing red eyes aflame with rage. Dean squeezed the trigger and blasted the creature with a face full of rock salt. Just as spirits are oft to do, it dispersed into a cloud of smoke and sparks.

"Did you hit it?" Sam panted as he caught up to Dean.

"Yeah I hit it, it's a damn spirit," Dean cursed. He hurried over to the still bleeding boy on the ground while Sam stood guard. He dropped down to his knees and turned the kid over, his stomach rolling so hard he nearly retched.

The kid's face had been halfway eaten, torn off by the dog's fangs. The right side of his jaw was completely missing; one of his eyes was practically hanging out of its socket. His throat was ripped open, there were gouging claw marks across his back and chest and shoulder. The blonde girl that had been with him came running over but Sam with his long legs was easily able to outpace her and catch her in his arms before she could throw herself on the mutilated corpse.

"Don't look," he told her, holding her back easily as she struggled.

"Chris!" she wailed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Chris!"

"Hey, listen, it's gonna be ok, we drove that thing off, but you gotta calm down, what's your name?" Dean asked, trying to quell the impending hysterics. Although by right she probably deserved a bit of hysteria at this point.

"Leah Allen, oh God, is he dead?" She choked on her tears, shaking something awful in Sam's arms.

"Leah, listen, we're gonna call for help but you gotta calm down." He fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone and quickly dialed for 9-1-1 and as he did so, Leah broke lose of Sam's hold and went running to Chris's body, sobbing uncontrollably as she took in the boy's mangled body.

_ "9-1-1 what is your emergency?" _

"Yeah, we're out on highway 39 about ten miles out, a kid just got mauled by some kind of animal, send an ambulance."

Dean hung up the phone and stuffed it back into his pocket as Sam approached him looking shocked and horrified all at once, a look not uncommon in their line of work.

"You ok?" Sam asked, noting the scratches on Dean's chest.

"Yeah, I'll be ok, but damn, that thing had some bite to it." Dean rolled his shoulder, feeling the throbbing ache of where he'd hit a rock on his way down after the dog had jumped on him.

"So it is a spirit, I mean the rock salt worked, it cleared it for a while," Sam muttered. Something in his voice suggested curiosity, and Dean glanced up at his hazel eyes, trying to get a read on his little brother.

"Yeah, and, we've dealt with spirits before," Dean said with another shrug of his shoulder.

"Yeah, but I've never seen one take animal form. I mean I didn't think animals had enough life force in them to come back."

Just then they could hear sirens whirling in the distance. Dean and Sam quickly ran to the car to stash their guns, knowing that being armed with large pistols, plus a massive sawed off shotgun (whether it had buckshot in it or not) wouldn't look good to the cops. He was already prepared to flex his creative lying muscle as the authorities came running over, blue, white, and red lights creating a disco affect in the desert.

"Think we should bail?" Sam asked quietly as paramedics piled out of the ambulance.

"Probably too late for that," Dean muttered. "Get ready to play the creative lying game."


	3. Chapter 3

"So what's our story?" Sam hissed as they approached the scene once more.

"We got lost, pulled in front of the house to ask for directions, heard the kids getting run down," Dean said curtly right as an officer approached the two of them.

"You're the one who made the call?" the cop asked, not quite as tall as Dean, around his father's age but still in decent shape, shining a flash light right into his face.

"Yes," Dean said. "Sir," he added when he felt Sam nudge him with an elbow in the spleen.

"What were you doing out here anyway?" the officer demanded, now pointing his light at Sam's face, causing him to flinch.

"Got lost, saw the house, thought maybe we could ask for directions. Then we heard the screaming."

The cop gave him a very hard side eye and looked down at his bleeding chest. "What happened to you?"

"Was running towards the yelling, tripped up," Dean said with a light shrug.

"Ought to get that checked out, come on," the officer said, beckoning Dean forward towards the ambulance.

"No, I'm fine, really, just…what the heck do you think that was that did this?" Dean pressed.

"Well, you two were the ones who were here, you tell me."

Sam started forward, flashing his trademark puppy dog look of concern and worry. "We didn't see anything, sir," he said, in that plaintive 'look how cute I am, you have to believe me' voice that never failed to get him anything he wanted. Seriously, that boy would have done a lot better for himself working as a con, or hell, even an actor if you wanted something that actually paid taxes. Sam could sell snow to a snowman in less time than it took for Dean to get a stripper to give him a private dance. It was an art, really.

"We just heard the yelling and tried to help, that's all. Is the girl ok?" Sam asked softly.

The cop clicked his tongue behind his teeth and lowered his flashlight. "She's not injured, just some scrapes from falling down. The boy is road kill. Hardly anything left of him. You sure you didn't see what got him?"

Sam shook his head and Dean kept his mouth shut. The cop gave them a nod and waved them away. "Get out of here then, this is a crime scene now."

Sam yanked Dean back towards the Impala and they quickly piled in, pulling around the cop cars and ambulance and heading back towards town.

"We gotta hit the books, Dad's journal too, see if there's anything in there about vicious spirits taking animal form," Sam said as Dean hit the gas hard.

"I don't remember seeing anything like this before. This wasn't even a chupacabra, I hit it with the salt and it vanished."

"The real question is why didn't it kill you too?" Sam's voice was very quiet. Dean knew that tone. It pricked the big brother cord in him and he had always stepped up before to reassure his frightened little brother. He wasn't about to start falling down on that job now.

"The important thing is that it didn't kill me. All we have to do is hunt the son of a bitch down and destroy it. That's all. It's just like any other job."

Sam shook his head, being stubborn and refusing to be comforted so easily like he always did. It was something that both endeared and angered Dean in equal measures. Endeared because it meant Sam wasn't an idiot and was smart enough to know to keep his wits about him and not to be easily satisfied by sloppy half-truths. Angered because couldn't his big brother's promise to keep him safe be enough for him? Jesus, what was Dean going to have to do to get it through his head that no matter what came at them, Dean was never going to let Sammy get hurt? Sure, he might take a bruise or a bullet wound here or there, might be afraid for his life, but Dean was never going to let anything really hurt him. Ever. It had been years since Dean had made the promise to himself that he'd sooner die than let anything happen to Sam. He'd never gone back on it and he never would.

"It's not like any other job. This is like nothing we've ever seen, Dean. We need to be ready."

Dean shrugged his shoulder, refusing to wince at the pain from moving the bruised muscle. "We'll be fine, Sam. We'll do our homework, keep the guns close, keep our eyes open. We'll handle this." He cocked one eye eyebrow over at Sam. "Why are you worried so much about this anyway?"

Sam shifted angrily scowling. "Forget it."

"No, come on, Sam, if something's bothering you, you'd better tell me. You gettin' a weird vibe or something?"

Sam practically bared his teeth at Dean in exasperation. "I just don't like to see you bleeding, all right? Especially when you act like you couldn't care less. Dean, whatever that thing was, it could have killed you, and you don't even seem to care."

Dean sighed heavily. "Sam, listen to me. I'm not going anywhere, ok? Get it through your stubborn head. I am going to be around annoying you for a long time, got it? Nothing's gonna happen to me. Now just relax."

He flicked on the radio to cut the silence between them but noticed that the entire rest of the drive back to the motel Sam wouldn't look at him. Dean brushed it off and eased into the rhythm of those over-driven Zeppelin guitars, refusing to give in to the idea that he'd scared Sam.

Or himself.

* * *

><p>When they got back to the motel and walked in the door the cuts on Dean's chest really were starting to sting. They were deeper than he had originally thought. Nothing that wouldn't heal but man did they smart. All things considered though, he was lucky, it could have been a lot worse.<p>

He and Sam crossed the threshold and he was ready to head to the bathroom to patch himself up, and then maybe get a drink somewhere, when he paused as Sam headed to the small table they'd left their research on. "Sam, hold up a second," Dean muttered, his hand slightly out, holding up one finger for Sam to pause.

"What, what is it?" he asked.

"Someone's been in here."

He didn't know how he knew it, but he was dead certain someone had been in their room. Things just felt…moved, in that way that said someone had come in here and had been spying on them. He and Sam never asked for cleaning services to come into their rooms, and even though he couldn't tell what had been touched or shifted, he knew without a doubt someone had been here while they were gone.

"How can you tell?" Sam's tone was soft, not quite disbelieving, seeing the concern on his big brother's face.

Dean didn't answer right away, just breathed. There was a scent on the air that seemed familiar but he couldn't say why. It was tickling the back of his throat, reaching up towards his memories, trying to prod him along in the right direction but there just wasn't enough of it to give it a name or a place of reference. "It just feels off," he finally said, still not looking at Sam.

They both went to the bags that they had their clothes and other belongings in and picked through them. Nothing had been stolen. Dean went to the safe where he'd locked up their father's journal. It was still in there, but Dean stared at the leather bound book very carefully.

"Dad's journal still there?" Sam asked.

"Yeah…" Dean muttered. He couldn't prove it, but he swore that the journal had been shifted by a micro inch from where it was before. He picked it up and thumbed through the pages, even daring to sniff them. Nothing was missing, but that perpetual _wrong _feeling shifted through his guts again. Possessive anger curled through his veins. This was _Dad's_ book and someone had been messing with it, he was certain of it. If someone had the balls to break into their room, their safe, and nose around their dad's book, they were dangerous. Dean took the journal out and held onto it, shutting the safe door and coming back over to the table where they'd left most of their research that Sam was now picking over again.

"Didn't we have some leftovers?" Dean asked, nosing around the table where he'd left his basket of take out that was now empty.

"Uh, maybe, I wasn't really paying attention to be honest, Dean, are you sure someone's been in here? It seems fine to me."

Dean shook his head, confirmation rolling through him. "No, I know I had some fries left. Someone's been in here. Why they ate my fries and left everything else I don't know. Those were damn good fries too," he lamented.

"Dean…I really think you are imagining things," Sam said with a shrug.  
>Dean twitched his lips, that indefinable but still very <em>wrong <em>feeling crawling just underneath his skin. "Just keep an eye out."

He set their father's journal on the table and dug through his bag, pulling out small drawstring pouch of salt and stalked away into the bathroom, stripped out of his clothes, and cranked the shower on. The water pressure sucked, but at least it was warm and the place was clean. He hissed a bit as he made sure to thoroughly clean the cuts on his chest, literally rubbing a bit of salt into the wounds. He'd never heard of anyone becoming 'infected' by a ghost or spirit, but his dad had always taught him to be safe rather than sorry, and if a ghost had caused this wound, then rubbing it down with salt should dispel any sort of rot that might be trying to infect him. Hurt like a bitch but Dean had long since been immune to most pain. His dad had made sure of that as a kid.

He finished in the shower and dried himself off with the almost threadbare towel and stepped out to get redressed. Sam was still pouring over research by the time he'd settled down onto the mattress, as relaxed as a hunter would ever get while still on a case.

"Dude, leave it alone until morning," Dean muttered. "Won't do us any good to give ourselves brain damage from lack of sleep."  
>"You're the one who said keep an eye out," Sam shot back.<p>

"Have it your way," Dean said. He sprawled out onto the bed and closed his eyes, ever so slowly falling asleep to the sound of Sam's steady breathing and the occasional crinkle of pages turning.

* * *

><p>Fake police badges? Check. Business casual clothes appropriate for a detective? Check. Sam squirming uncomfortably since they were about to break the law…again? Check.<p>

The brothers had waited until school was let out before deciding to approach.

"Now remember, take the lead on this one, Sam. You were with her more last night anyway."

"Yes, Dean, I remember," Sam groused.

"Good. And make sure you do the puppy dog eyes thing. Girls love that." Dean flashed him a smirk and chuckled lowly when Sam's face contorted into an expression of indignation.

They crossed the dusty street to the parking lot of the local high school and found their target, Leah Allen, heading towards her little beater car. They hadn't been able to see that much last night, but now in daylight they were able to get a better bead on their target. She reminded Dean of many small town girls he'd had brief flings with when he was younger, not quite grown into her limbs yet with curly blonde hair falling down her shoulders, perpetually tanned skin from exposure to the desert sun, her body not yet decided whether it would develop into an hourglass or keep getting taller and thinning out even more than she already was. She was pretty enough to be a cheerleader, just maybe not the team captain. The brothers waited until the pack of kids that Leah had been talking to disappeared before making their move.

"Leah Allen?" Sam called.

"Yes?" She turned to face them, a thick Texas accent in just that one syllable. Sam and Dean flashed their fake badges and her brown eyes went wide.

"I'm officer Thomas Stone, this is officer Richard Blake, we're with the district police office. We wanted to talk to you about last night." Sam's voice was still calm. Even Dean had to admit Sam always would be better at managing damsels in distress.

Leah sniffed a little and set her books and backpack into the back seat of her car. "Look, I already told the cops everything I saw. Which was Chris, getting run down by some huge dog and being eaten alive." Her arms crossed over her chest as she glared particularly at Dean even though he'd yet to say a single word.

"You and Chris were dating, yes?" Sam questioned.

Leah nodded. "Yeah, for about six months now." She rubbed at her eyes again, a few tears leaking out as she swallowed thickly. "He even gave me his class ring just a few weeks ago. We were going to get married as soon as we graduated."

Dean let his eyes dart to the girl's hands. No ring, and the only necklace she was wearing was a thin silver chain with a little heart shaped locket as the pendant. There could be some valid reason, maybe grief, why she wasn't wearing the ring, but it seemed odd.

"We're so sorry for your loss," Sam said gently while Dean made sure to keep a lookout for anybody that might be watching them questioning the girl.

"Do you know of anybody who might want to hurt Chris? Or you?" Sam coaxed.

Leah paused for a second, biting at her lower lip. Dean's impatience riled up and he now turned to the girl, trying to keep his tone soft but he just didn't have the finesse that Sam did with these things.

"Leah, if you know something, you need to tell us. Otherwise, other people might be in danger too."

"I don't know if it has anything to do with it, but this kid in our class, Robert Matthews. I used to date him, right before Chris and I started going out. It wasn't for very long, but he was really hurt when we broke up. You don't think he'd…?" she shook her head vigorously. "Chris was killed by that dog. You can't train a dog to kill someone, can you?" She looked up at Sam with frightened eyes.

"Well, we're investigating all possibilities, Leah," Sam said firmly. "We're going to need to talk to Robert, can you give us his address?"

Leah nodded and Dean quickly scribbled down the address, a side street towards the other edge of town, and flipped the notepad closed. "Ok, thank you, Leah. We'll be in touch if we have any more questions."

The brothers quickly scurried away, back across the street towards a small local diner. Dean's stomach had been growling for over an hour now, breakfast having consisted of barely caffeinated coffee and nothing else.

"Well that was interesting," Sam muttered.

"How so?" Dean asked out of instinct but he was really more concerned with the lunch specials, and also the thoughts of who might have been prowling around his and Sam's room.

"Kid she dates and then breaks it off with, now almost a year later she thinks he might be trying to get back at them?" Sam's brow furrowed as he chewed on the tip of his pen. "It just doesn't make that much sense to me."

"Well we need to talk to the kid. Who knows, maybe he's a psycho messing around with black magic, bringing stuff back to life that really ought to stay dead."

"What, like Cujo?" Sam snorted as they sat down at a booth near the window in the diner.

"Maybe. We'll know more after we talk to him."

"Dean, you said you thought someone had been in our room last night." Sam folded his hands on the table, ignoring the cups of coffee the waitress brought them.

Dean tensed, the exact reaction Sam had been fishing for. Dean said nothing at first, just took a swig of coffee and tried to get his game face fully positioned before looking up at Sam. But Sam, being Sam, knew his big brother too well, and he wasn't going to let Dean wiggle his way loose of this one.

"Was anything missing out of Dad's journal?"

Dean shook his head, leaning back in his seat. "No. Not a thing."

"So how can you be sure someone was in there?"

"It's just a feeling Sam. A weird, freaky, feeling. I don't know who or why, but someone was in our room, and they were nosing through Dad's book."

"Why didn't they just take it then? I mean besides the arsenal in the car…." Sam lowered his voice, "that's probably the most valuable thing we own. And if they know enough to know that's what's valuable then…"

"Then what, Sam?" Dean snapped, cutting his brother off. "I don't know who was in our room or why, but eventually we'll figure it out, and we'll make sure it doesn't happen again."

"Maybe we were lured here," Sam suggested quietly. "I mean the case, and then we run into the thing last night and it's got a clear shot but it doesn't rip to you to pieces." He drummed his knuckles on the edge of the table. "I think something, whatever it is, wants us to be here."

Dean flicked his tongue behind his teeth. He'd heard crazier things in his day, but that didn't mean he liked it, and it didn't mean it was true. He was, however, inclined to trust Sam. For whatever reason they didn't yet understand, Sam had a way with sensing what most people, even other hunters, didn't perceive.

"Well, I hope they came to party," Dean muttered, leaning back so he could feel the brush of his pistol against the small of his back, making him feel as secure as anything ever could these days.


	4. Chapter 4

"Well isn't this happy home suburbia," Dean muttered as he and Sam climbed out of the Impala, parked in front of one of many lonely sets of trailers strung along this dead end dirt road on the edge of town.

"Hey, we've seen worse," Sam said as they walked towards their target, his eyes sweeping over the area, noting the sprawl of small children's toys, dusty swing sets in the yard, and one lone dog chained to post not far from a small dog house.

"Ok, something seem wrong with this to you?" Dean asked, also observing their surroundings.

"Yeah. Feels like a ghost town." Sam's brow furrowed. Kid's toys everywhere, but no kids; in fact, there wasn't a single car parked anywhere in the nearby area except their own.

As they approached the trailer the chained dog barked ferociously before cowering back and disappearing into the doghouse, its growls still audible even as Dean and Sam climbed the porch to the trailer.

"Police! Anybody home?" Dean called. The only sound they were met with was the wind whipping through the dusty yard, making the chains on the swing set in the next yard whine ominously. Silence greeted them from behind the door so Dean shrugged his shoulders and withdrew his trusty lock-pick and began to needle at the door until it swung open for them. He stowed the pick and then withdrew his pistol, flexing his fingers against the grip and barrel before lowering them to the trigger. He kept the safety on for the moment as they prowled through the space. It was fairly sparse which made it less cramped than it could have been but it didn't take them long to cover it.

"Sam!" Dean barked as he found one of the tiny side bedrooms. If any room in the house was going to belong to a teenage boy, it would be this one. Dozens of death metal band posters were taped to the walls, black paint covered the ceiling. The only thing of value in the room appeared to be a stereo and sitting next to it on the dresser was a collection of CDs, most of them with violent, grotesque covers.

"Whoa, ok, this kid is obviously living up to the Freudian Id stereotype," Sam said as he nosed around the room. He dropped down to his knees and began to feel around the edge of the mattress gingerly.

"What are you doing?" Dean asked, noting the almost pained expression on Sam's face as he reached between the mattress and the bed frame.

"When we were teenagers, what was the only thing we were trying to hide from Dad?"

"Besides your college applications? The porn. Duh," Dean answered.

"Right, and where do all teenage boys hide their porn?"

Dean's eyes attempted to bug out of his skull. "Dude, seriously, you have a laptop. Find your porn like the rest of us do! This is just weird!"

Sam glared at him, his arm stuffed between the mattress and the bedframe before his fingers closed around what he was looking for. He yanked his arm back and stood up on his feet.

"Black magic rituals 101." A smug look crawled its way across Sam's face as he slapped the book into Dean's hand.

Dean's eyebrows arched in surprise. "Nice one Sammy," he admitted. He flipped the book open and glanced through it. "Yeah, this is really basic. Half of it is total B.S." Dean handed the book back to him and watched as Sam thumbed through its pages as well. "Think this is enough to bring something like that dog back?"

Sam swallowed. "Yeah, looks like it." He unfolded the book and pointed to a passage written in Latin that was written below a drawing of a basic summoning spell and the list of materials required. "But it doesn't explain why the spirit is taking animal form or why it's targeting the people that it does."

"Or how to stop it, right?" Dean muttered with an annoyed sigh.

Sam shook his head. "Of course not. We both know that it's ten times as hard to kill something that's technically already dead."

"Ain't that the truth." He paused for a moment, weighing their options. "Alright, let's bail. We need to find the kid and talk to him, and we're taking that with us. Hopefully he hasn't memorized how to do the mojo and taking his little cookbook will put the breaks on it."

"Yeah, but that doesn't change the fact that someone still brought that spirit back and we need to stop it. Otherwise, it'll just kill at random will."

They turned to head for the door but right at that moment they were about to cross into the living room towards the front door the screen door swung open and a teenage boy with lanky black hair, pale skin, wearing black jeans and a Cannibal Corpse T-shirt.

"Who the hell are you?" the kid barked, angrily slamming the door behind him.

"We're the police," Sam interjected before Dean could smack the kid upside the head for being a demanding brat. Out of instinct they both yanked out their fake IDs and flashed their badges. "We needed to talk to you, you're Robert Matthews, right?"

"Yeah, that's me, what the hell are you doing in my house? Why do you have my book!?" He angrily snatched for the book in Dean's hand but Dean yanked his hand back and held it over his head.

"Oh, this book? I don't think so kid. You been working a little voodoo, messing around with some black magic?" Dean's voice dropped to that low growl that was way to reminiscent of his old man's authoritarian snarl for Sam to be entirely comfortable with but for the time being he'd let Dean have his way. Sometimes putting the fear of God in a kid was the best way to keep them on the straight and narrow.

"No!" Robert insisted. He stretched his arm out for the book again and that was when Sam noticed four bloody red lines on the side of his neck and jaw.

"How'd you get those scratches?" Sam asked, pointing towards the boy's neck as Dean continued to hold his book over his head.

"None of your business. Now, unless you're going to charge me with something, get the hell out of my house!"

"Hey! We've got enough to arrest you on suspicion of conspiracy, attempted murder, and murder in the first degree, so unless you want to see what lock up is like you better talk fast!" Dean snarled. "What do you know about those kids that were killed?"

Robert narrowed his beady dark eyes at the two of them. "Not much."

"Talk faster kid," Dean pretended to be reaching behind his back for a pair of cuffs (which he actually had in the Impala, but the kid didn't have to know that).

"Ricky Martin was no damn saint. He was a prick. Ask me, kid deserved what he got. Peter Baker and Jessica Tanner used to date, but he cheated on her so they split. She didn't take it that well but then again, I guess it doesn't matter much, because a month or so later," he drew his finger across his throat in a hacking motion, "she bit it too. And now Chris Rodriguez."

"Did Chris know any of the others?" Dean demanded.

"He knew Jessica, her and Leah were best friends. Rumor going around at school was that Chris had a thing for Jessica. Leah denied it though, so did Chris. And Jessica's not around to answer for herself, is she?"

"And you? We spoke with Leah earlier today, she said you and her used to date." Dean still had that threatening growl in his voice and he now stepped forward to physically put himself in the kid's space and assert his dominance. Humans weren't that different from dogs, not really, his dad had taught him that when teaching him how to deal with cons, thieves, or worse.

"Yeah, for a month or so, it wasn't anything serious. She wasn't into me."

Sam narrowed his eyes, determined to dig for more information. "Why not?"

Robert sneered at Sam coldly. "Why do you think? Leah's one of the prettiest girl in school. I'm the Goth freak who likes to research the supernatural in my spare time. We'd been friends for forever it just kind of happened. I think she was hoping if we went out I'd quit being a quote 'punk'," he made little air quotes with his fingers, "and turn normal. Didn't happen, so she called it quits."

"You don't sound happy about that," Sam noted.

The kid shrugged. "Your friend can't deal with the kind of clothes you wear or the music you listen to or what you like to read. It's like…why are you even friends with me then?" He folded his arms over his chest. "Look, I don't know who or what killed those kids. The newspapers keep saying a wild animal is loose out there. Judging from what Leah said in class it sounds like they all got mauled by the same thing, so why aren't you out there in the desert trying to kill it?"

"Oh I don't know, Rob, you tell me?" Dean growled. "Maybe because someone's got a book of black magic stashed under the bed, a book with the exact ritual to bring a deranged spirit back and sick it after people he didn't like!" He was right in Robert's face as he spoke, Sam keeping a close watch overhead.

"Look, I still care about Leah, alright!" Rob yelled back. "If was really trying to hurt people, why the hell would I send a psychotic animal after her or her boyfriend? She wanted to get married to Chris after barely six months of dating him, fine, that's her prerogative. I'm not so petty I'd actually try to kill them!" He cocked one eyebrow at them, a suspicious look on his face. "Besides, none of that stuff is real anyway. Why do you even care? You guys don't believe in black magic, not if you're really cops."

Sam's face paled but Dean's jaw set hard. Before Sam could try and explain anything Dean cut him off, deciding to pull the escape hatch now before things got any stickier. "We're still taking this with us." Dean tapped the book with his fingertips. They headed for the door and were standing on the porch when Dean turned around to find Rob still watching them. "Where is everybody else by the way?"

"What do you mean?" Rob asked.

"The adults? All the other kids?" Sam clarified.

"It's church night, over at West Minister on Brick Street. They're all there."

"And your not?" Dean asked with as much sass as he could possibly interject into his tone. "Such a shame, bet you're missing out on a great church potluck."

Rob slammed the door shut in their face and Dean chuckled as he and Sam scuttled back through the yard towards the Impala. They climbed back into the car and Dean cranked on the engine, heading back towards the motel.

"Alright, what's our next move?" Sam questioned.

"I'm not sure. You think he was telling the truth?"

"I don't know," Sam said with a quiet sigh. "I mean, remember that zombie case we worked when we were hunting for Dad? Where that college boy brought back the girl cause he was in love with her and she was killing people?"

"Yeah, you think maybe this Rob kid's jealous of people so he's sicking the dog on them?"

"Maybe. But if he really does care about Leah, it wouldn't make sense for him to try and get at Chris while she was there. It puts her in the cross-hairs."

"Not if he knows how to give the spirit a target. Is that in there?"

Sam flipped through the little black book. "No. Normally you need a powerful talisman or some seriously dark hoodoo to send spirits after someone."

"So you don't think it's him?"

Sam shook his head. "No. Besides, if it was, I think we might have seen more evidence of it at his house. No black candles, no mutilated animal bodies, no herbs, I think maybe the kid is telling the truth."

"I wonder what those scratches on his neck were about. Think he got a little too close to Lassie at some point?"

Sam tilted his head down, still staring at the book. "No. Weren't big enough to have been caused by the dog. They looked human."

"Human? Hm. Maybe we should poke around more, find out who would take a swing at him."

Sam stayed quiet, still studying the book. Dean took them back to the motel and stashed the car in the lot and had just finished climbing out when he had that particular sensation of something crawling up and down his spine- the same one he would get when he knew someone was watching him.

"Dean? What is it?" Sam's voice was soft with concern, seeing the way his brother tensed up.

"Someone's watching us," he hissed. He withdrew his gun and nodded towards Sam, giving him the signal to draw and fan out.

"Dean, there's nobody here!" Sam hissed, and yet he still drew, but he didn't switch the safety off.

Dean approached the door to the motel room, pressing his back to the wall, holding his gun near eye level next to his head, Sam doing the same thing on the opposite side. Sam nodded to give Dean the signal and Dean slid the key into the door and unlocked it, nudging it open before sweeping in, holding his pistol out, doing a clean sweep of the room as Sam came in behind him.

"See, Dean? Nobody here." Sam muttered. "I think you're just being paranoid."

Dean lowered his pistol and let out the breath he'd been holding. "Yeah…maybe, still, I coulda swore…"

Just then threw the open motel door he heard the thunk of a heavy, American-made metal car door shutting.

He whirled around and saw a shadowy figure leaning over his baby, a hood drawn over the head of the figure, completely obscuring the face as whoever had been in the car stuffed the black book into their coat and then shot across the lot like a bullet out of the barrel of a gun.

"Hey!" Dean shouted, taking off like a bat out of hell after the fleeing figure, Sam running right behind him, his long legs easily keeping pace with Dean who was racing blindly in pursuit. The older brother really couldn't have cared less who or what he was chasing after, all he knew there was no way in hell anybody he didn't know was going to get away with putting their mitts all over his baby.

The thief shot across the parking lot, running like hell for the street, whirling on their feet with swift ease, burning rubber on concrete as they bolted for the only part of town that could be considered 'industrial'; a mess of twisted metal warehouses and buildings that had once been used to store cattle and other farm animals after the cowboys would bring them in from the pastures to be slaughtered and turned into delicious barbeque.

"Jesus their fast!" Sam panted as even his long legs were struggling to keep up the blinding sprint.

"They are so not getting away, not after breaking into my baby," Dean growled. He kicked it up a notch, the thrill of the hunt pumping through him. Hot blood spilled through his veins, he could practically taste a catch on the tip of his tongue. Bolts of electricity tingled through his fingertips and the bottoms of his feet as he raced after the fleeing figure, his prey as fleeting as the dust blowing in the hot night wind. His heartbeat slammed like the roll of a drum solo in his ears as he sucked down more and more air to fuel his running legs. Muscles bunched, contracted, released, the hot spice of desperation for a figurative kill tore through him as he did his best to gain ground on his target. This blind, rabid instinct, this need to hunt, it was in his blood, it always had been, it always would be. It was the thing that would always separate him from Sam. Sam could be just as content to live a regular life, absent of these blistering chases and battles, and hell, even Dean had days, long days, when he could too. A life where he could be free of the pain, the guilt, the aching hole deep inside no amount of alcohol, sex, or blood could bandage over. But he knew deep down, no matter how blissful domestic life might be, there would always be that need. That instinctual urge to hunt, to wreck control and power on the world that would dare violate that which should be protected. Why was it his responsibility? Because he had the strength, and more important, he had the drive, and never was it more clear than when he was running down prey like the wolf runs down the deer deep in the woods on a moonless winter night.

The figure raced towards the warehouses, pelting towards a fence that was chained shut. For a moment an excited thrill bolted through Dean's guts- he had the figure trapped, but they didn't even flinch, instead, they kicked off the dusty concrete and launched themselves into the air, landing on all fours onto the top of a dumpster before springing off like a freaking leapfrog and landing in a crouch before shooting up onto two feet and taking off into the tangle of buildings.

"Come on!" Dean yelled to Sam who was right at his shoulder as they came up to the fence. "Your legs are longer, go!" He skidded to a halt next to the fence and quickly interlaced his fingers together and gave his brother a boost up and over the fence. Sam scrambled over and hit the other side, waiting for Dean but the elder waved him away. "Go on! They got the book!"

Sam took off running and Dean quickly scrambled over the fence as fast as he could, this time withdrawing his gun as he went running in the direction of the thief. He ran down a side street barely wide enough for a car, looking left and right, trying to listen for any sound of pursuit but the blood pounding in his ears made it impossible to hear much of anything useful. He steadied himself as much as he could but when Sam came out from behind one of the warehouses, hands up in show of an empty catch, his breath sailed out of him.

"Son of a bitch!" Dean cursed. "It'll take all night to search this place!"

"Come on, there's no way to know if there was only the one. Dad's book is at the motel, we need to get to it, make sure it's safe."

Dean nodded and took off at a run after his brother, his feet pounding over the concrete, anger, confusion, and frustration pouring over his frame just as thick as the sweat beginning to coat his skin. They double timed it back to the motel and hurried inside, Sam making sure to lock the door while Dean ran to the safe, spun the lock, and found his father's journal still safely tucked inside. He leaned his head against the top lip of the safe, catching his breath as he reached inside and pulled the book out.

"It still there?" Sam asked.

Dean pulled back from the safe and nodded, holding up the book for Sam to see. Sam looked a bit relieved to see that it was still there, but soon enough, befuddlement crossed over his face.

"Who the hell would want to steal that book?" Sam asked, halfway watching Dean, the other portion of his attention divided to watching out the window of their room.

"I don't know, but they have officially pissed me off," Dean muttered.

Sam ran his fingers through his hair, pushing it away from his face before looking back over at his brother. "We need to find this thing and fast, because I have a nasty feeling that now that they know we are, we're next on Lassie's menu."

Dean smirked a bit despite the gravity of the situation. "Well Scooby, what do you suggest we do?"


	5. Chapter 5

Dean couldn't sleep well that night; he laid on the king size bed, staring at the ceiling relentlessly with his pistol on the nightstand next to the bed while Sam leaned into the recliner in the corner of the room, his eyes closed, bangs flopping into his face with their father's journal open on his chest, the book rising and falling ever so slowly with the movements of his breaths. He would never admit it, but Dean spent quite a lot of time watching Sam sleep. He always had, ever since Dad had started leaving him at nights to go hunting, thinking Dean was old enough to look after Sam on his own. He knew his brother was prone to nightmares, restless nights where he tossed and turned and mumbled broken syllables that sounded an awful lot like names of people he'd lost. Dean hurt for Sam when he heard those sounds. Mom. Dad. Jess. As his big brother, it was Dean's job to protect him, to keep him safe, to make sure nothing bad happened to him, and yet despite his best efforts, Sam had lost so much. It wasn't fair. It was wrong and Dean felt the loss of his brother's innocence like a chipping ice pick hacking at his baby brother's faith like a knife between the ribs.

Restless, Dean sat up and scrubbed at his face with his hands, climbing out of bed and wandering to the bathroom to splash several handfuls of cold water onto his skin. He stared at himself in the mirror and tried not to see the foggy vision of his father there at the same time. He gritted his teeth against the feeling of guilt and anger roiling up in his chest, rising to try and drown him in the back of his throat.

_I'm doing the best I can. He's still alive ain't he? _

_Ain't good enough Dean, and you know it. Ain't any good for him to be walking around if he turns into a monster. _

"Shut up," Dean growled to himself. "This is Sam we're talking about here." He snorted to himself, telling himself he was foolish for even thinking it. Sam turn evil? His doe eyed, floppy haired, awkward, sexually stunted little brother all of a sudden go savage? That'll be the day. That'll be the damned day.

He went back to the bed and laid down, staring at the ceiling, worry his bottom lip between his teeth, allowing his mind to wander, and as per usual when he took the leash off his brain, it sniffed out memories of women and the last time he'd been laid. He smiled at the memory, letting his mind teethe over one woman in particular, a long legged, heavily tattooed, dark haired woman with ice blue eyes, sharp teeth, and a mouth that was halfway between sin and salvation all in the same lust filled moan. Natasha Callahan.

He'd deny it to Sam if he asked, but he missed the girl. Her getting out from under him, leaving him to wake up alone in her motel room with only a note (which he'd be ashamed to admit he still had stuffed at the bottom of his leather jacket's pockets) had left a gnawing sense of dissatisfaction in him. Despite the intense carnal bliss that the two of them shared, not being able to say goodbye had somehow left him feeling unfulfilled. He wasn't sure what it was about the girl that drew his focus so intently. Maybe it was the way her eyes would grow dark when she'd look at him from beneath the curtain of her hair, her mouth turning wicked, making his guts burn with heat better than any shot of whiskey could ever feel. Maybe it was the way she seemed to envelope him and completely shut out everything that had been bothering him. Maybe it was the way she gasped, pleaded, tipping her head back, baring her throat for him as he sank so deep, determined to send her plummeting over the edge. He didn't realize he'd worked himself up until he registered the way his hand was slipping over his skin as he wriggled under the blankets, suddenly hot under the collar and desperate for relief.

So much for trying to go back to sleep.

* * *

><p>When he wakes he knows it's early because no matter what's been happening he's never been able to sleep late if he's working. If he's off the clock so to speak, he's fantastic at snoozing until noon, sometimes even later if it suits him, but when he's on a hunt, no matter what time he fell asleep, he's up crack of dawn or shortly thereafter. Sam is also awake and sitting at the table, pouring over more research when he sees his brother sit up and grind the heels of his hands into his eyes, rubbing the sleep away.<p>

"You look like you didn't sleep much," Sam noted, not quite looking up from the papers he was shuffling.

"You know, you need to teach me how you do that chameleon thing where you stare at me creepily out of one eye and look down at something else," Dean muttered.

"It's called being a law student and having to focus on at minimum two things at once at the same time."

"Find anything useful?" Dean asked as he swung his legs out of bed and slowly rolled his head on his neck, loosening the muscle before standing up.

"Found a bit of history on the house, but it doesn't make a lot of sense."

"Yeah?"

Sam shuffled the papers again, finding the print out he wanted before leaning back in his chair. "Yeah, so, the house was built in the early 1900s, owned by the Boyd family."

"Anything interesting on them?" Dean wandered towards his bag of clothes to find something clean to wear, already his appetite revving up for the day. They were low on funds, after this job was over he was going to have to seriously hustle for some cash, since apparently Sam thought scamming thieving credit card companies was a bad idea.

"No, that's the thing. When the Great Depression hit in 1929 the bank foreclosed on the house and the family moved out West. It's remained in the bank's possession since then, nobody's lived there, nobody's died any kind of violent deaths, it doesn't make any sense." Sam pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a minute just to give his head a break while Dean got dressed. When he heard the heavier step of his brother's shoes heading towards him he opened his eyes again and watched as Dean nosed through the papers briefly before shrugging on his leather jacket.

"Come on Sam, let's get something to eat and then we'll tail Robert and see if he really is working the evil summoning spells. He's done it enough times he ought to have it memorized." He turned his back and felt Sam getting up from his chair to follow him out the door.

"If it is him, Dean," he reminded him softly. Dean shrugged in response and said nothing.

"Man, I do not know how you could do any more time in school than you absolutely had to," Dean said with a yawn, leaning back in his chair, his eyes halfway closed, stomach growling yet again. Breakfast had been early that morning at the diner, and lunch had consisted of absolutely nothing; the lack of funds meant they were down to eating to once or twice a day. It was almost three and the brothers were parked in the Impala a block down the street from the school, keeping a sharp focus on the parking lot where the student's cars were parked, waiting for Robert to make an appearance.

"I wanted a future, Dean," Sam muttered, his eyes trained on the parking lot, refusing to look at his brother. "School was my future."

A bitter bark escaped Dean before he could bite it back. Sam turned to him with a scowl but Dean just shrugged his shoulders.

"What?" Sam demanded.

"Yeah, you think school was your future. Sam, eventually you're just going to have to admit, you were always meant to do this. Just like I was. I'm not saying it's easy or it's fun or it offers retirement at age fifty five, but hey, there are worse things."

Sam stiffened next to him even though Dean still refused to look at him. "Dean you don't know that. If all that crap with Jess hadn't happened…if Dad hadn't gone missing…I would have just stayed at school. And I'd of been happy with it. You know why I came with you."

Now Dean did turn to look at him. His little brother's eyes were dark and filled with pain. And anger. It smoked right at the edges, growing sharper and more focused with every moment that passed.

"You came because you want to kill that son of a bitch that got Mom. And Jess. And Dad. That's screwed around with our family for way too damn long."

"That's right," Sam growled softly.

"And how is that any different than what Dad was doing all this time?" Dean pressed. He knew it wasn't a good idea to needle his little brother into a corner. Backing Sam into a corner with no retreat was a great way to get him royally pissed off, and despite the puppy dog eyes and normally sweet disposition, when Sam was cornered, he could be _very _dangerous. Dean knew that first hand. Yet he still pushed, because he was too much like his old man and never knew when to quit.

"You're no different than us, Sam. And that's all there is to it."

Sam huffed with aggravation. "You'd like it if it was the truth," he growled softly. "Because then you wouldn't be alone."

Dean whipped his gaze straight onto his brother, but Sam refused to back down. He shifted up in his seat and lifted his chin in defiance, getting that look that said that Dean had thrown his punches and now it was his turn, and he wasn't going to play nice. He was going to hit him where it hurt.

"I know what you're really afraid of, Dean. You pretend like nothing in the world scares you, like nothing bothers you, like you can hunt and fight and sleep with strangers day in and day out until something finally is a bit too quick for you and stabs you in the back and leaves you for dead somewhere. You're not scared of death, but you sure as hell are scared of being alone. You'd do anything to keep that from happening. Anything. I don't know what Dad did to you to make you need his, and now my, approval so much, but leave me the hell out of it. I had a life of my own once. I gave it up because I wanted to. Not because I'm like Dad."

The challenges and retorts and smart mouth comments died in the back of Dean's throat. They died under the truth of Sam's blows, but Dean had too much pride to admit the truth.

"Whatever you say, Sam."

Unlike his big brother, Sam would refrain from grinding salt into the wound. He made his point. The silence between them stretched like a gap but as time wore on and the stakeout continued to yield nothing useful, it ebbed away. Darkness descended and still they'd not seen Robert come out of the building.

"I'm seriously thinking maybe he saw our car and ducked out the back," Dean muttered as seven o clock rolled around. The lack of food for most of the day was starting to make him cranky.

"Dean!" Sam's voice was sharp, rousing Dean's attention. Sam pointed through the windshield towards a lone figure skulking through the parking lot, all dressed in black, bird like shoulders hunched, gangly legs moving quickly.

"Here we go," Dean rumbled, but there were no cars in the lot for the kid to take so Dean was shifting, getting ready to climb out and follow the kid on foot when they both heard it. That terrible, blood curdling howling.

"What the hell?" Dean cursed as he and Sam scrambled out of the car, Sam with his pistol and Dean popping the trunk to grab the rock salt shot gun. The howl sounded again and this time when he looked up he saw Robert freeze in panic.

"Robert!" Sam called. "Robert, run!"

Dean saw the dog come running from behind the gymnasium that was built off to the left side of the main school building across a narrow street. Robert spun on his heel, staring in petrified terror as the monstrosity bounded towards, it's long legs clearing the asphalt of the street in two bounds and racing towards Robert.

Sam and Dean snapped into action, tearing across the street, closing the distance between them and their target but the dog was much faster. In one bound the animal pulled Robert down, sinking it's massive muzzle into the boy's shoulder and neck. The screaming was not unlike others Dean had heard in his long career as a hunter, but its potency was still knife-sharp, no matter how many times he heard it. It was the sound that played as the backing track to each of his nightmares. High pitched, wet with the blood that bubbled up through the wailing cry of a person who knew they were gasping their last breaths.

"Hey, Lassie!" Dean snarled, raising his shotgun, but the animal vanished into thin air just as he squeezed the trigger, the blast of rock salt hitting absolutely nothing.

Sam raced past him and threw himself down in front of Robert, trying to put pressure on his bleeding shoulder, doing his best to stem the gush of blood that was still pouring free, slicking his hands and wrists, trying to keep the kid calm even as Dean spun at every twitch at the corner of his eye.

"Get down!"

It wasn't Sam or Robert that shouted the warning. If it had been his brother, Dean might have instinctively listened but nevertheless, the voice rang a cord of familiarity in him. He twisted in time to see someone dressed all in black holding a knife as long as a forearm, the blade just as wide, leaping over the small retaining wall that blocked off the parking lot of the school and slammed straight into the dog which had just reappeared in midair, leaping straight for Robert and Sam. Sam tensed, ready to meet the creature head-on, but the new arrival struck it right in the side, digging in the curved metal of the blade into its ribs, slashing as hard as they possibly could even as they smashed into the ground, rolling end over end with the hooded figure in black coming up on top. They yanked the knife back just as the dog vanished into the same black smoke that appeared whenever Dean hit a spirit with his rock salt shotgun.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean barked, aiming the shotgun still in his hands at the intruder. True the salt wouldn't kill, but it would hurt like hell and they didn't have to know there was only salt and not buckshot in the gun.

The figure stood and turned, a flash of red cloth appearing at the wrist as they raised their free hand lowered the hood down, a mane of dark hair tumbling down and a familiar pair of ice blue eyes locked with his own.

"Hi Dean. Miss me?"


	6. Chapter 6

"Natasha? What the hell are you doing here?"

The grin on her face faded almost immediately as she stowed her knife into a holster on her thigh, her fingers moving with quick, precise movements. Dean noticed that she wore two fifty-caliber Desert Eagle pistols, one on each hip. Above and below the belt his body jockeyed for the rush of hot blood that spilled through him as his mouth went dry.

"Could ask you the same thing, but now's not really a good time."

She quickly moved past him and dropped down to her knees next to Sam who was up to his wrists in blood at this point, looking up at Dean, slack jawed and stunned into silence.

"He's bleeding out," she muttered in a quiet, very focused tone as Sam lifted his hands away so she could better see the wound. She reached into a small square pack strapped onto her right leg and pulled out a small bottle with a narrow tube at the top that she quickly uncapped and a tiny drawstring bag. She took a pinch of what Dean immediately recognized as salt and sprinkled it into Robert's wound. He was already unconscious from the pain and blood loss and so it was no trouble for her to tip his head to the other side so she could better get access to his neck where the hound had bitten him. She took the little bottle and squeezed a measure of clear fluid into the wound and then proceeded to hold it shut.

"Is that superglue?" Sam asked, finally remembering how to speak.

Natasha nodded even as she put another thin layer of glue onto the deepest part of the wound. "Yep. Miracle in a bottle for deep wounds that won't stop bleeding and there's no nearby surgeon."

"And the salt?" Dean asked. It seemed like the last sort of question he felt he should be asking but he couldn't get anything else to come out.

"Spirits don't normally infect, but let's not take any chances. This thing's got enough malice to be felt halfway across town. Could poison him, plus its just a good disinfectant on it's own."

"Will he live?" Sam asked softly as she finally capped the bottle and released the pressure on the wound. No more fresh blood spilled free, but his neck, shoulder, and chest was practically covered in it.

"Not if we don't stop the hound," she growled. "Come on, someone carry him. It'll be back, we need to get him out of here."

Sam scooped the kid up into his arms and carried him towards the Impala, proceeding to lay him down in the back seat, his limbs flailing limply as Sam buckled him in, knowing how his brother was prone to drive. Meanwhile, Dean was in the process of cornering Natasha as she approached the driver's side of the Impala.

"Got something you want to say, sweetheart?" Dean growled.

She smirked at him, not the least bit affected by his annoyed tone. "What's the matter, Dean? Jealous that I busted in on your hunt?"

That got his trap to shut so fast he nearly bit off the tip of his tongue. Her grin loosened and became more genuine, reaching much more of her eyes even as the humor faded away. "We'll talk later. Right now, we gotta help Robert. The hound will be back and soon."

"Where's your bike?" Dean asked as she turned to walk away.

"Down the street. I know where you're staying, I'll meet you there. Go ahead and start putting down the salt when you get there."

"We know how to keep evil spirits out," Dean muttered. "We're not exactly new at this."

She turned back around and smiled at him again, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't ignore the way it made his guts tighten up and his blood pump faster in his veins.

"Oh I know, Dean. I know all about you." She blinked at him and then turned, taking off at a run. Dean climbed into the driver's seat of the Impala and fired up the engine, already feeling Sam's eyes drilling into his temple.

"_That _was that girl you would not stop going on about? Why the hell didn't you tell me she was a hunter?"

Dean smirked to himself, unable to help the memories that played out like the best NC-17 rated film he'd ever seen in his mind, but at the mention of hunter the tape seemed to skip several frames. "I didn't know. She didn't say a word about it to me," he replied.

"Where'd she run off too?"

Dean gunned the engine and took off towards the motel. "She's gone to get her bike. She'll meet us at the motel."

"Her bike? As in bicycle?" Sam's eyebrows shot up and now Dean fixed him with a pointed stare.

"Dude. Her _Harley_. Do you really think I'd stay out all night with a chick that rides a ten speed?"

"I don't know, there was that one time in San Francisco…" Sam smirked at him and leaned back into his seat and Dean rolled his eyes.

"What's that look for?" Dean demanded at the almost infuriating smirk on Sam's face

"Oh, nothing. Just your girlfriend randomly shows up and makes you look like an idiot on your own case. It's hilarious."

Dean gritted his teeth and flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. "She's not my girlfriend," he growled. "And she did not make me look like an idiot. And it's our case, dumbass."

"Still. She got one over on Fido and you missed," he teased.

"Can we focus please?" Dean barked.

"Sure man, whatever you say," Sam said calmly, pacifying his brother for the moment.

They wheeled into the motel parking lot and right as they settled into their spot and killed the engine a matte black Harley rolled up right beside them. Sam's eyebrows shot up into his bangs again as Natasha swung off the bike and stuffed the keys into her pocket, the gleam of the silver on her pistols flashing in the watery motel lights. She had a massive backpack swung across her body that was almost as long as she was and it looked stuffed to the gills with supplies. Sam swallowed hard and Dean shot him a look.

"I saw her first."

"Boys, kid bleeding in the back seat, raging spirit dog after us, can we move it along please?" Natasha tapped on Dean's window and both boys quickly scrambled out of the car, coordinating carefully as they lifted Robert out of the backseat.

Sam held Robert in his arms like a limp rag doll while Dean and Natasha led the way down the hall, making sure no one was around to watch them carry the half dead kid into their room. Sam laid him out on the bed while Dean made to shut and lock the door. Natasha quickly unzipped her bag and pulled out a very familiar canister containing salt, standing up and putting a hand on Dean's shoulder, stepping past him to right outside the door and laying a line of salt down, stepping over it carefully, then shutting it, bolting it, and laying another line inside the room.

"Two lines? Seems a bit excessive," Dean noted.

"Now it can't touch the door at all," Natasha explained. She hurried to the two windows and laid out lines of salt on the sill. "That should hold it off, at least for a while, but you two know that's not a guarantee."

"No, we need to find the bones of whatever this thing is, salt and burn them," Sam said with a huff. "We thought it was Robert, we found a really basic spell book in his room, enough to bring something back, but I doubt he'd sick the hound on himself."

"Maybe he lost control of it? Maybe it decided to bite the hand feeding it," Dean suggested with a shrug.

Natasha shook her head. "It's not Robert, and it's not the book." She capped the container of salt and replaced it into her bag and zipped it up again. Dean had the distinct feeling this girl was always ready to bolt for the door, gear in tow, if necessary. Wise practice, but he had to wonder what made her so jumpy.

"How could you possibly know that?" Sam asked, shooting her an annoyed look.

She cocked her hip out to one side, folding her arms across her chest as she leaned up against the wall near the bed, as if oblivious to the mauled kid sprawled on the mattress. "Boys, you said you weren't new at this." One elegant eyebrow arched up and she fixed first Sam, and then Dean, with a lingering smirk.

"You!" Dean barked, suddenly fitting the pieces together in his head. "You were the one in here, sniffing through our stuff!"

Her grin widened but it didn't reach her eyes. "There's the hunter," she said softly.

"You were the one who stole the book last night," Sam concluded. He approached her and Dean noticed that her arms unfolded and she stared up at him with calculation in her eyes. Assessing a potential threat.

"Very good." She was all but purring. It made Dean's skin crawl in not entirely unpleasant ways, but he was still aggravated nonetheless. He didn't like being made a fool of, especially in front of Sam.

"Why?" Dean demanded.

"I thought the book might be what's fueling the spirit. I didn't appreciate being chased halfway through town, by the way," she muttered, turning now to fix her ice blue eyes onto Dean. "But I took the book and gave it a good rub down with NaCl and set fire to it. I was hoping that might have put a stop to it, but obviously it's not the book."

"What would make you think it is? Spirits are deceased people who went nuts and came back to get revenge," Sam said, tipping his head to the side as he usually did when he was concentrating.

"I wasn't sure what I was dealing with, since the spirit's an animal and is being given specific targets." She crossed the room to the bed and drew the brother's attention to the faint claw marks, still visible through the smears of blood on his pale skin. "I'd bet you anything that's the mark the spirit uses to hone in on its target. Either that, or it's a way to get something very personal of them to use in the ritual to bring the ghost back."

"You're saying someone's working blood sacrifice?" Sam asked, his tone hushed.

"What's the big deal?" Dean questioned as Natasha continued to observe the still unconscious Robert as though he were some sort of riddle that she was trying to untangle.

"Blood tends to be the strongest medium if you're trying to do someone harm." Natasha shrugged her shoulders and turned away, now facing Dean. "Either way, we need more information. Robert's obviously not the mojo worker here."

"First thing's first, I think you and I need to talk," Dean growled, his voice reaching a deeper baritone that made Sam's spine stiffen and the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Dean only talked like that when he felt threatened.

Natasha fixed him with her ice blue eyes and quirked her lips up, shifting her weight. "I kept my promise," she said to him, causing Sam's face to pull into a state of utter confusion but that wasn't going to stop him from getting tangled too.

"Look, I think the case is the most important thing. Whatever else is going on with you two," they both fixed him with strong expressions of 'back off sonny', and he swallowed hard before continuing, "can be dealt with later. Can we deal with the issue of the dog first? Might be more constructive."

Apparently three can tango after all, albeit awkwardly and with an overabundance of left feet. Dean exhaled and Natasha loosened the curl of her fingers on her own arm as her hands came down by her side.

"We need to know who's summoning the spirit," Dean said, coming back to the table where the research was spread out.

"Well, I'm not certain who's bringing this thing back, but I can tell you something you boys don't know." Natasha's mouth twitched into a sneaky grin. She went over to her bag and pulled out what both Dean and Sam recognized instantly as a hunter's journal. It was a large leather bound book fitted with metallic rings, stuffed full of newspaper clippings, drawings, handwritten notes, taped in pieces of herbs, bones, claws, an entire magpie's nest in there. She flipped it open to the most recent set of notes and showed them a convoluted flow chart sort of diagram.

"Ok, what does this mean?" Dean asked, looking up at her.

"You found the original owner of the house," Sam said as he also looked up, his bangs falling into his eyes.

"I can see who the brains of this operation is," she teased gently. "The original owner of the property was one Dwayne Rodes. Nasty son of a bitch. He built the house out there in 1856. Used to be a cattle rancher that had a massive black dog named Devil that he used to round up the cattle." She flipped the page back one and tapped a very grainy, washed out photograph of a tall farmer with a thatch of messy blonde hair and a very crooked nose using what looked like a rifle as a walking stick, and beside him, the hound that had been harrowing the town.

"Rodes ranching business went under thanks to the fact that he couldn't make nice with anyone, and he turned into something of a town drunk. He'd wander around and let the dog loose on people who looked at him the wrong way. Finally one day the dog actually killed someone, the mayor's son."

Both brothers shot her surprised looks but she took it in stride and continued talking.

"The mayor decided enough was enough. Rodes was at his home when the sheriff showed up and there was a shootout. Rodes and the dog were both killed that day."

"So who is it that's coming back, Rodes or the dog?" Dean asked.

"Not sure, but if I had to bet, I'd say it's Rodes taking on the dog's shape. It's convoluted spell casting from someone who doesn't know how to be specific, is my guess."

"I've never seen a spirit do that before," Sam said as he leaned back in his chair.

"Yeah well, like I said, someone doesn't know what they're doing," Natasha said, now situation herself on the corner of the table, crossing her long legs in such a way that had Dean's mouth going dry. She saw him watching her and smirked a bit to herself, rubbing the toe of her boots against each other. Sam delivered a sharp kick to Dean's shin under the table, making him wince audibly but he saved face before Natasha could comment.

"So…how did you find all this out in the first place?"

Natasha closed her journal and held it close to her body, as though it were something precious and private. "Been digging since I got here four days ago. I just followed the money trail."

"What money trail? The money trail ended when the bank foreclosed on the house in 1930," Sam muttered.

"So you thought. The house was rebuilt in roughly the same place after a tornado smashed the original one to bits. It took a plunging neckline and a phone number, but I managed to get into the bank's archives and trace ownership of the property and anything built on it back to Rodes."

"Sam, I've been telling you this whole time, you need the V-neck shirts!" Dean teased. This got a throaty chuckle out of Natasha and Sam all but blushed, shaking his head vigorously.

"Ok, whatever, so, we know who's being brought back, but the question is how and who is it, and where are the bones?" Sam tried to redirect the question but Dean would not let up.

"Aw, he gets so cute when he's shy," Dean harried. He still couldn't get the grin off his face when Natasha hopped off the table and began to slowly walk towards Robert's still unconscious body on the bed. She took a seat next to him and just watched for a while, keeping very still. Dean approached her from behind, his brow furrowed with confusion.

"What are you doing?"

"Not being a creeper if that's what you're thinking," she said, twisting her head to look at him over her shoulder. "Just shut up and let me focus for a second."

Dean wrinkled his nose with indignation at being told off. He did however hold his tongue. Sam on the other hand came around from the other side of the bed and stood still, watching both Natasha and Robert with careful concentration. Dean followed his brother's lead and watched as Natasha took Robert's hand and pressed palm to palm with him, her eyes closing for a moment. She let her hand skate up his arm and over his shoulder before very lightly grazing over not the bite wound but the scratches on the side of his neck. She mouthed a word to herself before finally opening her eyes.

"I think I know who did this," she said softly, looking up at Dean and then at Sam.

"Who?" Dean demanded.

"Leah Allen."

Dean opened his mouth to speak but just at that moment, all three of them jerked to their feet. An ear splitting howl rattled the pane of the windows, followed by the rumbling snarl of the hound.


	7. Chapter 7

"I told you it'd find us eventually," Natasha cursed. She withdrew her dagger, and now Dean was able to get a closer look at the blade. It gleamed with a soft sort of luster in the lamp light of the hotel and was slightly curved, the inlay of the grip on the handle definitely custom made but Natasha's hand was blocking it. The metal itself was the length of her forearm and she held the knife out defensively in one hand, holding the edge of the blade lengthwise rather than the tip forward.

"The salt is holding," Sam assured. They could hear the vicious snarling of the hound just outside the door but there was none of the battering ram like shaking that usually accompanied spirits trying to break down a door.

"Salt outside the door. Best hack in a hunter's guide book ever," Natasha said, her voice tight.

"It won't matter though, eventually it'll claw its way in. Either through the wall or the roof. If it's got a target, it won't stop until it gets in," Sam muttered.

Right at that moment the hound threw itself at the wall space between the door and the window. The whole structure shuddered with the force of the blow, and right then, they all began to hear the scraping, clawing sounds of the hound digging at the wall itself.

"Jesus this thing is more persistent than a hell hound!" Dean cursed. He had his rock salt shot gun already out and aimed at the wall.

"It won't stop until it finishes the job," Natasha growled.

"Or until we waste it," Sam muttered, pulling out his own spare gun.

"Here, this will serve you better." Natasha jerked one of her Desert Eagles out of its holster and pressed it into Sam's hand. "The slugs are filled with salt."

Dean's eyes went wide. "I thought you could only do that with shot gun shells?"

She smirked and shook her head, pulling out her second gun. "I have a very special arms dealer," she said with a wink before turning her attention on the door. "You boys got a plan for what to do?"

"How long will the salt hold it off?" Sam questioned.

"Not long. Less and less each time I'd imagine," Natasha said tightly, flicking the safety off the pistol as they began to literally feel more of the dog's strength hammering against the wall.

"Then we blast that thing with everything we got," Dean finished.

"And then what?" Natasha questioned with an eye roll.

"Still working on that part," Dean panted right as the dog barreled straight through what remained of the siding and dry wall.

All three hunters squeezed the trigger on their guns. Three massive blasts went off nearly simultaneously and the dog caught a face full of lead jacketed slugs of salt. Black smoke filled the room along with orange sparks but they didn't waste time.

"We take the kid with us, get him in the Impala, Dean, you drive, Sam you're in the back, I got shotgun." It was the orders of a general on a field of battle, delivered by a much better looking general.

"Yes sir," both boys fired back, pure instinct of being trained as soldiers by their father rising up in them.

She stopped in her tracks, whirling around in a flurry of hair, leather jacket, and steel. "What the hell did you just say?"

Sam and Dean stared at each other, jaws slack, hands down by their sides. "Nothing," they both said in unison, embarrassment flushing them both, especially Dean. He'd never called _anyone_ sir in his damn life but his father. And did it have to be her of all people?

Natasha's eyebrows shot up towards her hairline. "I kinda like it actually. Except, pretty sure I'm not a sir," she fixed Dean with a very pointed stare, "unless you found something down there that I don't know about and would make you gay."

Dean gave her an affronted look, followed as soon as possible by a smirk, instinct taking over to save what remained of his dignity. "Oh I wouldn't be calling anybody gay around here darlin, exactly how many times did I make you…"

"Ok, I'd like to not vomit on my shoes, and we have a very violent spirit after us, can we please move!?" Sam demanded.

"See. Brains of the operation," Natasha said with a smirk and nod towards Sam.

Everyone jumped into action, Sam carrying Robert out into the Impala and scrambling into the back awkwardly with him while Natasha and Dean piled into the front seat.

"Where the hell are we going?" Dean demanded as he hit the gas, racing out of the motel parking lot.

"Lincoln Avenue, third house on the street. It's Leah Allen's place," Natasha explained. She began to work the map to give Dean directions while Sam awkwardly tried to adjust in the back.

"You really think it's her doing this? Why would she, her and Robert were friends?" Sam asked.

"I can't explain how I know right this second, I just know that it's her, now, drive faster, we only have a few minutes before the Devil shows up again."

"Oh baby I can drive faster," Dean said with a smirk and hit the gas, sending the Impala lunging forward with a snarl of the engine. Natasha grinned wildly and despite the immediate threat of disembowelment by Fido, his nerve endings sparked pleasantly. He all but adored a woman who loved it when he drove at breakneck speed.

They pulled up to Leah's house with a screech of the breaks on asphalt. "Sam, you stay here, case the dog comes back, keep the Eagle handy, more shots than the shotgun," Natasha said as she and Dean piled out. Sam did too, but only to get a better vantage point, using both hands to hold the weight of the heavy pistol. If they survived the night, he'd have to remember to ask her why she bothered with such massive weapons.

Natasha and Dean went running up to the porch, Dean dropping down to his knees to pick the lock but Natasha just rolled her eyes. "Amateur," she teased before taking a few paces back, getting a running jump, and launching herself onto the low hanging awning of the porch. She hauled herself up with her upper body strength alone and then turned to the left and walked to the edge, stretching her hands out to catch the upstairs window sill in her hand. She dug her fingers in with every bit of strength she had and planted her feet against the siding of the house, the rough grip of her boots digging in and combined with her upper body strength, she didn't slip down. She thrust herself straight up and grabbed the molding on the upper part of the decorative window and then dug her feet onto the narrow sill.

"What the hell are you, girl, Catwoman?" Dean hissed as he watched the literal cat burglary going on.

"Might be," she teased with a hiss.

"I have always wondered about leather outfits," he teased. She clicked her teeth down at him before using her knife to wedge underneath the windowpane and pried it open. She stowed her knife and slid the glass up, smirking a bit as she did so.

"She ought to know better to lock herself up at night," Natasha snickered to herself. She slid inside and Dean waited with his heart between his teeth for her to remerge. She did after maybe three minutes had passed, barely enough time for him to start in on humming Enter Sandman under his breath.

Natasha shut the window, swung herself down on the lower ledge, and twisted her body so she landed almost whisper quiet on the porch next to Dean. "Got what we needed," she said with a grin, holding to a faux pink leather bound book with a little metallic clip holding it shut.

"Her diary?" Dean asked with his eyebrows popped up.

"Every girl's real best friend," she snickered. She used her knife to slice the strap holding the book shut and used the streetlight to scan the pages.

"Bless a girl's neat penmanship," she muttered to herself. "Knew it!"

"What, knew what?" Dean demanded but she was already in motion.

"Come on, we gotta head back into the desert, to Rodes' house." She grabbed him by the wrist just as a howl sounded over the stale desert air.

"Yep, time to go," Sam agreed, launching himself into the back seat, just as Dean and Natasha scrambled into the front.

"This thing can't outrun the car, not my baby," Dean muttered as he cranked the engine to life. The tires nearly smoked as they spun before grabbing pavement, the engine surely waking many neighbors of the quiet street as the car roared down the narrow street.

"Don't be so sure," Natasha warned, looking over her shoulder but for the moment seeing nothing.

"Ok, what's in the book?"

She reached to the roof of the car and hit the switch of the light and talked as Dean drove, tearing through the small town like a demon making a break for Hell's Gate, heading for highway 39.

"It was her from the beginning. Ricky Martin teased Leah all through school, called her all sorts of horrible names, spread rumors about her…Jesus Christ, some of this is really sick," Natasha said quietly, her brow furrowed. She skipped a few pages over and continued. "Robert was her friend and she told him about it. He said he knew a way she could make it stop. He showed her the basic spell book. She brought the hound back just to scare Martin at first."

"How does she target the victims?" Sam demanded.

"Blood, or some other bit of their body, she uses it on the alter when she summons the spirit." Her eyes moved rapidly back and forth over the pages as Dean swung the car onto highway 39. "Peter Baker was next. Jessica Tanner, her best friend, told her that Peter was cheating on her. Jessica was crushed and Leah thought he shouldn't be allowed to get away with it. She set the hound on him."

"But why the hell would she kill her own best friend? Or her boyfriend for that matter," Sam pressed.

"She caught Chris cheating on her with Jessica. I guess Chris took advantage of her in a moment of weakness. But in blind fury, it looks like she killed Jessica maybe by accident, and then Chris on purpose."

"That was when we first showed up," Dean interjected.

"Why Robert?" Sam continued.

Natasha was quiet for a moment before she answered. "I had a hint of this back at the room and it turns out I was right. Robert wanted Leah to himself but she wasn't interested. He manipulated her. He wouldn't give her the book unless she slept with him."

"Son of a bitch," Dean cursed with a hard look at the kid's unconscious body in the back seat.

"So she set the hound on him for using her," Sam concluded.

"Yeah, looks like it," Natasha muttered. "She's doing the ritual at the farm house. I guarantee you she's there now, still fueling the spell. There's got to be something of either Rodes or the dog that she's using to bring it back. Both their bones were burned the night they were killed."

Right then something slammed into the passenger side of the Impala. Everybody yelped with the force of the impact as Dean struggled to keep from swerving off the highway. He was scrambling to regroup when Natasha jerked in her seat.

"Dean, watch out!"

The hound came flying at them, slamming headfirst into the windshield, cracking the glass, it's massive claws gouging into the metal of the hood.

Dean's face melted into an expression of fury. "Get the hell off my car you mangy gutter rat!"

Dean slammed the breaks, throwing them all forward but crucially also shaking the hound off the hood. "Dean, drive!" Natasha's voice was thick with urgency as she yanked out her pistol.

"I'm run that son of a bitch over," Dean growled, throwing the Impala into gear and slamming the gas.

The hound was already up on it's feet and shook itself off, lunging for them again as Dean tried his best to smash into it with the grill of the car but being a spirit means death by blunt force trauma or being hit by a car is minimally affective. The hound clawed its way back onto the hood and this time Natasha rolled the window down and unbuckled her seatbelt.

"What the hell are you doing?" Dean demanded, staring at her with his eyeballs bugging out of his head skull.

"Drive straight!" she shouted against the wind that immediately whipped her hair back. She halfway snaked out of the car, holding her pistol hard even as the dog maniacally snapped and tore at the already very fractured windshield, snapping the wiper blades in half between its jaws.

"Hey you ugly ass sausage with legs, over here!"

The dog whipped its head around and Natasha squeezed the trigger hard. The salt filled slug smashed straight into the dog's eye, causing it to vanish into smoke. Dean instinctively eased off the gas as Natasha squirmed her way back inside the car.

"You know, for once, son of a bitch was actually appropriate," Dean commented.

Natasha grinned at him. "I'd kiss you, but you already can't see as it is." She tilted her head towards the spider webbing damage done to the Impala's windshield.

"Save it for later babe," Dean purred.

"Can we focus please?" Sam moaned from the back seat.

"The closer we get to the house, the more powerful the thing is going to be," Natasha warned. She checked the clip on her pistol and cocked the hammer back, holding the bridge of the muzzle to her forehead, closing her eyes and exhaling slowly, murmuring softly under her breath.

"_Pater noster in caelis est. Te , in bello servos . Nisi forte nos dimicabitis trucidarunt. Adveniat regnum tuum, fiat voluntas tua . Duc nos per noctem usque ad tenebras._

Both Sam and Dean's eyebrows shot up but before either had time to comment Dean was wheeling off the road and driving the Impala straight to the porch of the decrypt farm house. Standing on the porch was both the dog and now the very solid looking spirit of a man holding a large rifle.

"Great. She brought them both back," Dean growled.

"She must really want this dumb ass dead," Natasha muttered.

That was the moment that Dean noticed the dog prowling forward, snarling viciously right at Sam. Dean shifted his position but right then Rodes aimed his rifle straight at Dean's chest.

"Why is that thing coming towards Sam? It's after the kid isn't it?" Dean was halfway towards yelling even as Rodes began to advance on them.

"He's covered in Robert's blood. He might as well be marked." Natasha spat what sounded like an extremely damning curse in a language that most definitely wasn't English and aimed her pistol straight at Rodes.

"Sam. Run," she ordered.

"That thing will pull him down and rip his head off!" Dean snarled.

"If he doesn't, it'll make it past us eventually and slaughter Robert. Someone has to draw it off while we stop the spell!" Natasha growled.

"What about him?" Dean brandished his sawed off shot gun towards Rodes.

"He can't get ten feet past the porch. Part of the history of the spirit." She flashed an evil sort of grin at Rodes who, for his ghostly part, did not react to the jab.

"Why not?" Dean demanded.

"The original house extended ten feet further than the current property line." Natasha hadn't taken her eyes off Rodes but the hound was still advancing towards Sam, snarling with a menace that made everybody with still pumping blood shiver.

"Sam, put those long legs of yours to use, and run," Natasha urged again.

Sam held his ground and looked towards his brother. He was loathed to leave Dean alone in a fight. It violated every instinct in him to turn tail and run when he knew his brother would be put in danger.

"We'll be alright here, Sammy. Go. Give Lassie here something to fetch." Dean quirked a grin at his little brother to reassure him, despite the squirming in his guts. "Go."

Sam turned but Natasha called after him. "Whatever you do, don't shoot until you absolutely have to. Otherwise it'll come right back here and tear into the kid."

Sam nodded once and with a last look at Dean, turned tail and ran. The hound lunged after Sam and Dean was left to fight every iota of instinct in him to spin and shoot that damn dog to keep it from chasing Sam.

"Get your head in the game, Dean. We got work to do," Natasha growled. She stalked a few paces forward and fixed her eyes on Rodes who now swung the rifle and aimed it straight at her. She lifted her pistol forward.

"Say goodnight, bitch."

* * *

><p><em><strong>AN: I left Natasha's Latin prayer without a translation for a reason. All things with time. Also, shout out to everyone who's read/reviewed/followed/favorited you guys are great! **_


	8. Chapter 8

Natasha and Dean fired simultaneously blasting Rodes in the chest with salt, or attempted to, but he vanished the second they pulled the trigger. Fury rose hot and thick in Dean's throat as it always did whenever something nasty was trying to tear his head off the hard way.

"Behind you!" Dean shouted, seeing Rodes reappear directly behind Natasha. In that instant he became convinced that the girl was part feline or something because she launched herself into a backflip over the ghost's head like something out of a damn ninja movie. She twisted midair, landed on her feet, and blasted Rodes straight in the gut with a shot from her pistol, causing him to vanish.

"Come on!" she panted desperately.

They raced for the house, blasting into the front room and this time Dean lead the way but before they could get into the trap door, Rodes was back, yanking Dean by the shoulder and throwing him clean across the room. His back smashed into the kitchen countertops, and before he could so much as twitch Rodes on him, hand on his throat, the other smashing Dean's hand that was holding the shot gun into the counter's sharp edge, forcing the gun to drop. It clattered to the floor uselessly but Natasha darted across the room and stabbed her knife clean through Rodes back, so far that the blade poked through his chest.

Rodes vanished into a hissing puff of smoke and sparks as Natasha yanked the knife back. Dean stared at her with a bit of amazement as she twirled the knife in her hand.

"What kind of knife can dispel a ghost?" he demanded.

"All good things to those who wait," she teased. She tipped her head towards the house. "Shall we?"

"Oh you bet."

They went running towards the house, bounding up onto the porch and without hesitation Dean smashed the door in with his foot. It hit so hard it pinged off the back wall as they went charging in, heading for the hallway and the trap door, but Rodes was back, staring straight at them, this time the rifle swung forward and shots pinged like firecrackers, apparently very real bullets smashing into the cupboards and walls behind them. Dean cursed as one of the bullets came so close to hitting him that he had to leap back, but his shoulder banged against a doorframe, causing his gun to fall and clatter to the floor.

"Jesus you are one angry jack ass!" He dropped down to pick up the gun but Rodes fired off a shot and Dean was forced to throw himself to the side, crashing into the kitchen, to avoid being hit. Natasha withdrew her second pistol and swung forward to fire but Rodes flung his hand out and blasted her with that always lovely psychic ghost power, sending her careening into the kitchen cabinets, her pistol falling loose and skidding across the floor. She staggered up to her feet, wiping blood away from her nose that must have been caused when her head hit the cabinets beneath the sink.

"Why isn't he actually hitting us?" Dean demanded as they were forced into a corner of the kitchen, flinching as more debris went scattering into the air as Rodes swung his gun forward and shot another two bullets into the cabinets on either side of the two hunters, effectively pinning them in.

"We're not marked," Natasha guessed. "That has to be it. The victim must have a target painted on them for it to work."

"That's right."

Suddenly the bullets stopped as Leah emerged from the hall, holding the alter in her hands on a small table top covered in black cloth, demonic symbols painted on it, candles balanced carefully on it's surface. She set it gently onto the kitchen table and then turned to Dean and Natasha.

"Why are you doing this?" Dean growled. He tried to move but Leah twitched her head and Rodes fired off another shot that came dangerously close to slamming Dean in the thigh. "Let the kid and my brother go!" he yelled in frustration.

"If it's any consolation, your brother is still alive, otherwise Devil would be back here already finishing off Robert. That sorry bastard. He had no idea the truth of the saying 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.'" She chuckled cruelly and smirked at them, her pretty face contorted into an evil expression.

"It's such a shame your brother went and got himself covered in Robert's blood. He would have been fun to play with. He's twice as cute as you," she added with a cocked eyebrow.

"As his brother, let me be the first to tell you, Sam isn't exactly the kind of guy that jumps in the sack with jailbait!"

Leah rolled her eyes and stalked forward towards the two of them with another nod at Rodes who held his hand out. Now both Dean and Natasha felt the weight of his power pinning them back against the counter.

"Well, it doesn't even matter. Because if the two of you don't play nice, you'll both be dead soon."

She withdrew a small dagger and cut a shallow line onto Dean's forearm and held a little glass jar beneath the cut to catch the blood that dripped inside. Natasha arched her head back, struggling with all her might, briefly managing to get a leg loose from Rodes' hold.

"You're powerful," Natasha gasped as Leah reached for her forearm as well, baring the same knife that she had used on Dean. "Not too many people can hold me down like this."

Leah snickered. "Aww, how sweet. But you know, I have always hated ass kissing."

She sliced a line into Natasha's arm, causing the girl to grit her teeth and spit towards Leah who seemed entirely absorbed in her work. She took the glass jar that held both Dean and Natasha's blood back to the alter and set it in the middle of the symbol and whispered a few lines of Latin, causing the candles to flicker and sway sharply.

"Now the bullets are real," she hissed, turning back around towards the two hunters, her gaze zeroing in on Natasha.

"I knew someone was on to me," she began. "I had figured maybe when all the people I was close to started showing up dead people might get suspicious, but I never thought it'd be some out of town bitch who thinks she runs the damn world." She twitched her head and this time Rodes fired off a shot that slammed Natasha in the upper left arm. She groaned in pain as blood began pouring down her arm, gritting her teeth against the sensation of having been hit with a large lead slug.

"You pissed me off something fierce too, I hate being made a fool of. I can't believe I trusted you and told you that this house was haunted in the first place."

Natasha actually managed a pained laugh despite the blood dripping down her arm. "I'm good like that, honey. It's called practice. Something you might have wanted to get a little more of before you start bringing dead things back to life!"

"Oh this is just the start of my practice, bitch," Leah spat back, spinning on her heel and approaching the alter once more. "With you two trapped here, I bet there's no limit to what I can learn. Robert and his little book was just the start. The Internet was next but I found out pretty quick you can't really believe ninety five percent of what's on there. But two word of mouth sources with years of playing the field? Now that is a gold mine, and honey, I am nothing if not willing to get a little dirty."

She got close to Natasha and grabbed her face in her hands, yanking her chin up and forcing her to sink lower by digging her fingers into the bullet wound in her arm. Dean tried to intervene but Rodes' power was still holding him pinned to the counter as though there was an anvil on his chest.

"If you think we'll tell you anything, you're even stupider than I thought," Natasha snarled.

Leah backhanded Natasha hard, sending her head flying around, hair whipping like a cat of nine tails before stepping out of the way. Rodes raised the gun again and this time aimed it straight at Natasha's chest.

"Cooperate. Or die. I'm sure the impersonating detective can tell me plenty about what I need to know." Natasha didn't answer but she seemed to be trembling with fury as she stared defiantly up at Leah, and Dean felt the need to distract the girl before she maybe did end up killing Natasha.

"It's Dean by the way. I like the people who's asses I'm going to kick for being brats to know my name."

"Aww, Dean, you wouldn't hit a girl, would you?" She glanced at Rodes who trained the gun straight back onto Dean. A wicked, sickening smile toyed with her lips. "Get on your knees."

"Go to hell," he snarled.

Leah twitched her head again and Rodes fired, slamming a bullet straight into Dean's calf. He groaned in pain, slipping to his knees, smacking them hard on the wood floor, shaking with the effort it took not to express how much pain he was actually in.

"There's a good boy," Leah crooned, running her fingers through his hair, tipping his head back as she practically massaged his scalp, planting one foot on either side of his legs, practically holding his face to her chest. "See, I can make you do whatever I want. And unless you want your little girlfriend to die, you'll do exactly what I say, you understand me?"

Dean yanked his head back and bared his teeth. "Honey, I'll try almost anything once, but I am so not into dom and sub play. So find yourself another pet to lead around on a leash."

Leah was about to speak but she was quickly distracted, and Dean was too, by the sight of Natasha seeming to kick her way free of Rodes' bind. She shrieked with the effort it took but she sent her foot driving straight into Leah's knee, dislocating it as she launched herself off the counter. Rodes squeezed the trigger on his gun but the bullet went wide as Natasha dove to the floor, snatching up her pistol, rolling onto her back and firing off a salt filled slug straight into Rodes' chest.

Dean flung Leah to the side, sending her hard into the floor, her blonde hair falling around her face in a tussled mess as he scrambled for his own gun. Natasha bolted for the alter that was sitting on the table, and despite Leah's high pitched scream of rage, she picked the whole thing up and heaved it into the wall, sending the alter smashing, the ampule of their blood shattering against the wall, dripping scarlet fluid towards the floor. Natasha picked her way through the wreckage and from underneath the table that had supported the alter, she ripped something that had been taped there and held it up for Dean to see; a massive leather collar.

"Say goodnight to your pet, bitch," Natasha snarled. She dove her hand into the pack on the side of her thigh and came up with a small drawstring bag filled with salt which she rapidly sprinkled onto the collar and then with a Zippo from the same pack, set the collar on fire. Natasha dropped it right in front of the girl, not even noticing the blood that was dripping from her nose again.

Leah screamed violently as the collar was set to blaze, twisting and writhing on the floor as the flames licked at the material, the smell of burning dog hair filling the room. Just then Rodes reappeared and began to advance towards Leah, a maniacal sort of look in his eyes.

"What's happening?" she whimpered as she tried to scramble back from Rodes but was blocked by the counter at her back.

"These things you're messing with actually have minds of their own," Natasha said coolly even as she continued dripping blood onto the floor from her arm. "And when you lose control over them, then they come for you for forcing them to do their bidding."

Dean stood next to Natasha, knowing what would happen next, but refusing to do anything about it. It wasn't so much about settling a score as it was preventing more bloodshed. "You were pissed that all those kids wronged you. So you set the hound on them. Like you had a right to play God. Well, I'm not entirely sure that God exists, but I do know one thing," he paused right at that moment and saw the hound come stalking through the door and padded straight past them, aiming straight for Leah, its ears laid back, bloody muzzle rising to bare it's inch long fangs.

"Karma is a bitch."

Devil and his master lunged at Leah and the last sounds heard for many long moments were her wet screams as she was torn to bits in front of them before the spirits burst into flames and vanished. Natasha turned her head away at the sight of the carnage but Dean looked on for several long seconds, staring at the girl's mutilated corpse.

"Why do you look watch?" Natasha asked softly, still keeping her head turned.

"So I don't forget," Dean said quietly. He approached the body and used the draw bag of salt still resting on the kitchen table and dosed the girl liberally in it before using the lighter to set fire to her body.

"Can't risk her coming back as an evil ghost too," Dean said quietly.

"I feel terrible for her parents," Natasha murmured.

"Maybe if they'd been more involved this wouldn't have happened. At least this way maybe she can be remembered in a better way."

Natasha turned to Dean, still refusing to look at the burning corpse less than five feet away. "By never knowing the truth?"

"Truth hurts, sometimes too much," Dean said solemnly.

Natasha didn't answer, she just turned and watched the corpse continue to burn until the bones began to char.

"Come on, I have a first aid kit in the car." Dean limped out of the house and Natasha followed after collecting her salt and lighter and replacing them in the pack on her thigh.

"Sam!" Dean shouted, somehow in the darkness still managing to see his brother come jogging towards them, definitely out of breath but no worse for wear. Sam ran forward and caught Dean in an embrace which caused Dean to groan.

"Hey, what's wrong you alright?"

"I'm fine, that son of a bitch just shot me in the leg is all."

Sam pulled back and dropped into a crouch and rolled the denim of Dean's jeans up to survey his brother's damaged calf. "Not horrible, probably needs stitches but easily fixable."

"Hey, I got shot too ya know."

Sam jerked upright and saw Natasha already shrugging out of her jacket and very gingerly twisting her arm so she could inspect the bullet wound. Sam seemed to struggle with who to tend first, his instinct to tend those less capable and the drive to help his brother at war but Natasha just rolled her eyes.

"Help Dean. I'm fine," she muttered, reaching into her pack and pulling out a wad of heavy duty black medical tape and using her teeth, wrapped it around her arm.

Dean took a seat in the front passenger seat while Sam rolled up the cuff of his jeans to get at the bullet wound, having taken the first aid kit out of the trunk and poured a healthy dose of hydrogen peroxide into the gouge mark, making Dean hiss and cuss a blue streak.

"That hurts!" he whined, wishing he could jerk his leg away but Sam had a tight grip on him.

"Oh don't be such a bitch," Natasha teased from where she was sitting on the hood of the Impala.

"If you weren't so hot, I swear, I would not put up with you," Dean muttered with an eye roll.

Natasha laughed out loud at that and leaned over the door, coming very close to Dean's mouth with her own.

"Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

"Get a damn room," Sam barked.

"Get laid, Sammy."

Dean's mouth closed onto Natasha's and proceeded to attempt to drown in the taste he'd been craving for weeks. Sam could tell by the hitch and the baritone of Dean's voice that the groan in his throat was definitely not one of pain.

"Yo, porn stars, I'm right here!"

Natasha chuckled a little even as she mouthed at Dean's lips for a moment longer. "I'm aware, Sam," she murmured, her voice husky and practically dripping lust.

Just then all three heard a weak moan coming from the back seat of the car. Sam quickly finished taping up Dean's leg and nudged himself halfway into the back seat just as Robert's eyes opened.

"What the hell is going on?" the kid asked weakly.

"Your ex girlfriend went psycho and tried to kill your stupid ass," Natasha explained, nibbling on the edge of one fingernail as she did so.

"What? Leah?"

"Don't play dumb," Dean growled. "She told us everything." He narrowed his eyes at the kid. "You're so lucky you're human."

"Yeah? How's that?" Robert mumbled as he slowly tried to sit up, very gingerly rubbing his shoulder and neck where the hound had taken a chunk out of him.

Natasha shot her good arm out and pushed Dean out of the way before she dragged the kid out of the Impala and flung him hard into the dust, kicking him in the thigh, causing him to howl miserably. "Because if you weren't, I'd kill you myself for what you did to that girl. You knew she was messed up and you gave her means to hurt a lot of other people." She yanked her knife out of her belt and pinned the kid into the dirt even as he whimpered and squirmed like a fish on a hook underneath her even as her knee dug into his gut, cutting off his breath while her knife traced just under his jaw.

"Please, please don't kill me, I swear, I didn't know what she would do!"

"You used her like a cheap piece of meat," Natasha snarled. "You held what she thought was her key to being in control of her life over her head and made her have sex with you to get it. You used her without any respect for who was or might have been. You didn't love her, and if you ask me, you deserve what you got!"

"I'll apologize! I'll make it up to her, I'll make it right, I swear, just please, please don't kill me!" He was practically crying, twisting his head back and forth as he tried to break free of Natasha's grip, all the while Sam and Dean looked on with a combination of worry and solemn emotions in their eyes.

"You can't." Natasha's voice grew hard as stone, losing its fire from just seconds ago. "She's dead. She's dead and it's all your fault."

"You killed her!" Robert wailed miserably.

"Shut up!" Natasha spat, taking Robert by the bangs and smacking the back of his head into the dirt, causing his eyes to blur considerably. "Don't cry for her like you give a crap. You're just sorry you got caught for what you did you miserable maggot. I didn't kill her. Nobody here killed her. Nobody except you."

Robert continued to whimper underneath her as Natasha stared him down, refusing to remove the knife, biting at her lip as if she was considering actually killing the scrap of human flesh beneath her. Dean's hand gently fell onto her shoulder.

"We're hunters. Not executioners," he said softly.

Natasha jerked away from his hand and stood up, giving Robert one last solid kick in the gut, causing him to double over, weakly coughing, before throwing herself into the back seat of the Impala. Dean and Sam quickly got into the front and shifted into gear, leaving the kid laying in the dust as they drove off towards town.


	9. Chapter 9

_**So at last, we have reached the chapter that would have me give this fic an M rating. Sexy times ahoy!**_

* * *

><p>"We can't go back to the motel. It's too damaged, people will want to know what the hell happened. Stop off outside, someone can run in and grab your stuff, and then you can come and stay where I'm at," Natasha offered.<p>

"That's awful nice of you," Sam noted, but he kept his voice neutral. He could tell Natasha was definitely still on edge.

"We're hunters. Helping each other out with damage control is just part of the gig," she said quietly. "At least it ought to be."

Dean pulled up about a block away and Sam went running towards the motel, slipping quietly in the shadows towards their very damaged room to collect what remained of their belongings.

"You ok?" Dean asked quietly after a few seconds of silence. "You seemed pretty wound up back there."

Natasha shrugged, wincing a bit as she flexed her damaged arm. "What he did bothered me. It was sick."

"She didn't have to go along with it. She didn't have to kill people. She had that choice," Dean pointed out.

She fixed him with a dark, heavy look. "Don't tell me you haven't wanted it," she mumbled softly. "Don't tell me you haven't wanted to cap someone because they were just plain evil."

"Of course. But like I said, we're…"

"Hunters, I know. We're not God." She sucked in a deep breath and tried to relax but it didn't do her much good. "I just…I know how she felt."

"I doubt that," Dean said gently.

Natasha looked at him closely and despite the fact she didn't think it was possible she found the edges of her mouth twitching towards a smile. If she had to guess it was something about his voice and his eyes, the warm stability he radiated. She shifted forward from the back seat and laid her head on his shoulder, daring to take a bit of comfort from him whether he intended to give it or not.

"We still have stuff to talk about you know," he continued, but still he let his fingers trace through her hair at the edge of her forehead, letting his digits comb a long piece away from her face, tucking it behind her ear so he could better see her cheekbones and jaw.

"Do we?" she quipped. "I figured we'd covered it. You're a hunter and so am I. That's about all there is."

"Uh…no, actually, not quite," Dean muttered.

"So what else is there?"

"Uh, like for starter's, what's with that knife? And how did you break the ghost's hold like that?"

Natasha shifted a bit and looked up at him. "Anybody ever tell you that you talk to much?"

Dean smirked down at her, letting his fingertips trace near her jaw and neck. "No, not really."

She chuckled at that. "You are a liar, Dean Winchester. But I like the sound of your voice."

Sam came back just after that and Natasha leaned into the back seat and gave Dean directions to a small neighborhood on the west side of town, directing him to the last house on the block. This little side street wasn't far from the turn off that would take them onto highway 39 and out of town once and for all. Dean parked the car and followed Natasha's lead as she let them in to the empty house which going by the level of dust and various leaves on the floor, had been vacant for quite some time.

"You couldn't find a legal place to crash?" Sam questioned as they hauled in their necessary supplies into the small, one story house before Natasha shut and locked the door from the inside.

"Cheaper. Less conspicuous. Less of a paper trail," she said with a shrug.

Dean nodded at the logic and then turned back to her. "Come on, let's get that arm stitched up."

"The power's out but look in the cooler, there should be a bottle of whiskey, hand it to me, would you?" Natasha asked. Sam nosed around the cooler until he retrieved the bottle of Jameson, as Natasha stretched out on the mattress that was sprawled on the floor and finally took her boots off, setting them aside on the floor. Sam handed her the bottle of whiskey, which was already close to half empty and then took a seat next to Dean who already had the first aid kit propped open and was picking through it, looking for the right tools. Natasha took a healthy pull on the liquor, and sighed at the burn coating the inside of her mouth as Dean unwrapped the bandage that had been stemming the bleeding. He lifted a bottle of peroxide to the wound and poured a healthy measure straight in and Natasha turned her head to the side, exhaling a sharp breath as the sting increased to a fiery burn.

"Damn, that smarts," she muttered, taking another pull on the whiskey.

"K, hold still," Dean said quietly as he used several frightening looking metal tools to dig the bullet out. Natasha winced, biting her lip but refusing to flinch or squirm until finally Dean managed to get a grip on the lead slug and pull it free from the flesh, dropping it off to the side with a soft ping. Natasha panted hard as Dean poured over another good dose of peroxide before taking the suture kit and beginning the process of shutting the wound. Natasha took one more long slug on the whiskey before setting it aside and capping it, easing onto her back, still holding her arm out for Dean to work on.

"You boys are welcome to stay. Not very comfortable, but it's safe. Nothing will find us here."

"How can you be so sure?" Sam questioned softly.

Her eyes had already fluttered closed but at Sam's voice she opened them again, fixing him with an intense stare. "I'm a hunter, Sam. I know how to protect my own."

The brother's exchanged a look and a slight shrug of confusion but didn't question it. Dean finished off the sutures and tugged up the comforter that had been kicked down to the foot of the bed and draped it over Natasha's shoulders. She curled into the material and sighed softly, tugging the thin pillow nearby under her head and quickly drifted off.

"Well that's odd," Sam noted. "I figured she'd be too keyed up to sleep that fast."

Dean tipped his head to the side in consideration. "Could be running on not a lot of sleep. Some hunters are obsessive like that."

Sam refrained from pointing out how Dean was all too familiar with that idea since their Dad had often been like that, and just like with everything else, Dean tended to take after their old man. "Dean, I gotta wonder if maybe she's not…"

"Not what?" Dean muttered with an aggravated sigh that was a combination of exhaustion and not-in-the-mood-for-uncomfortable-questions.

"She might not be telling you the truth about everything." Sam looked at his brother with a sense of apology in his eyes, something that almost never failed to soften Dean's irritation, and tonight was no exception.

"I'm aware of that, Sam. But she helped us. That's good enough for me for right now."

"Dean, I think she's psychic. Which either means she's into some shady stuff herself, or she may not be human." Blurting it out like that gave Sam a look like maybe even he didn't quite believe it, but it was too late to take it back now.

Dean turned and looked at the woman sound asleep next to him, snuggled nice and tight underneath the blanket. It was a difficult thing, trying to reconcile the ferocity and malice he'd seen from her earlier, into the bundle of innocence next to him now.

"We can deal with it in the morning, Sam. Right now, we need to get some sleep."

Sam decided to let it go and stretched out on the floor close by, using his bag as a pillow, his body not really minding the stiffness of the floor due the general exhaustion stealing into his bones. Dean on the other hand towed off his shoes and jacket and slid under the covers behind Natasha, daring to loop his arm around her waist and tug himself close into her body.

He swore he heard her purr softly in her throat before he finally gave into the desperate need for rest.

When she woke she could feel Dean still pressed up behind her. The stillness of the air told her that Sam also was still sleeping and she smiled to herself at her good fortune. Surrounded by Dean's scent made her smile and wriggle pleasantly inside before she smoothly rolled over and woke him with a kiss.

"I like this wake up call," he rasped, his voice tight from lack of use.

"Shh," she hissed, kissing him again, this time more urgently, letting her hands trace down his chest and belly, diving down to sneak underneath the waist band of his jeans. Dean groaned softly at her touch, his head tipping back, a soft sigh coming from him.

"Not with Sam right there," he panted even as Natasha worried her lips and teeth against a very sensitive spot on the side of his neck.

"Just be quiet," she hissed.

He tried to resist but there was no way to hold his ground with her. He rolled the two of them over and as quietly as they could, wriggled out of their clothes from the waist down. Natasha seemed content to leave it at that but Dean couldn't help himself from pulling her out of her shirt and bra, hungrily kissing the flesh he'd been so desperately missing for what felt like eternity. Her breasts were just as sweet and firm as he remembered them, both under his lips and hands, his rough palms and calloused fingertips squeezing and massaging hungrily. She groaned at the feel of his mouth, the barest scrape of his hours old whiskers tickling her skin in delightful ways, coupled with the strength of his grip, it made tingles of zipping pleasure race up and down through her core. Her legs squeezed together as she throbbed between her thighs, desperate for the ache inside to be filled. It wasn't long until she was grasping at him with all four limbs, guiding him to join with her completely.

He couldn't remember if he'd ever been with a woman like this before. Hell, he didn't even have to lay a hand on his cock to be ready to have her. Dean's eyes fluttered closed and then open again to watch her expression as he slid in, her heat slowly but steadily enveloping him until he was buried to the hilt as she was letting out the softest moan. He bowed his head low and pressed his forehead against her shoulder, sighing at this feeling, some filthy part of him twitching with utter delight at the fact that Sam could wake up at any second and catch them, but really he was too caught up in the sheer present moment of being locked together with her again.

"God, I missed you," Natasha whispered, mouthing at his ear, raking her nails through his hair. She gave a startled gasp as Dean pulled back for a gentle but still potent thrust. She dug her hands into his shoulders and deltoids, clinging to him as her head fell back as the pleasure and tension dug deeper and deeper into her bones and refused to let her go. It scared her, how desperate he made her feel, and she responded by pushing back in her own way that only managed to fuel the fire blazing between them.

"Off, take your shirt off, now," she growled, rocking her hips up into his, fisting her fingers into the material, yanking at the cloth as though it had personally insulted her. Dean chuckled quietly and sat up, shrugging out of his shirt, just as happy as she was to have their skins pressed together, the heat sparking and intensifying even more between them. She let out another moan as he set a slow rhythm with her. She tried to match him thrust for thrust, to amplify both their pleasure and send them screaming towards the edge, but he seemed determined to take things slow.

He slowly rolled them over to their side, never letting his cock slip from her heat, taking the weight off his damaged leg. She arched her head back, her cheek pressed against his, the tangle of her hair rubbing against his chest and shoulders as his fingers bit into the wolf that was stretched over her thigh, slowly hitching her long, slim leg to curl over his, opening her more fully, allowing her to feel every glorious inch of him sliding through her. She keened as the pleasure wracked her bones, but before the sound could escape for more than half a second her face was buried into his bicep that was stretched out underneath her, keeping her close.

"Shh, Nat, don't wake Sam," he warned even as he drew out and then in again, making her shudder. She arched her back with a shuddering moan, trying to rock her ass into his pelvis but the way he had her positioned extremely limited her leverage. She writhed underneath his hands as he squeezed her hip and then palmed her belly, tugging her even closer into him before snaking his hand down and ghosting over her swollen clit, finding her slick and throbbing beneath his fingertips.

"Dean, please, I can't..." She was practically sobbing as he forced her to lie there and just take it, just let him have his way with her. She was grinding that desperate edge so hard it almost hurt but in the best kind of way. She gasped for air, trying to keep a hold on herself and find that she was rapidly slipping through her fingertips, being ever so quickly replaced by _him. _

It was so much more than he could ever hope to take for very long. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but the way she needed him, the way she _wanted _him, it was unlike anything he'd ever felt before, even amongst the myriad of lovers he'd had in the past. The pleasure spiked and coiled deep in the pit of his belly and he drew his hips back quicker and sharper, creating a steady canter beneath the blankets with her, rubbing her clit sweetly with his fingers as he gently mouthed at her ear and neck.

He wanted her to come, he was desperate to feel the way she clenched around him and filled him with such thick, consuming heat it was as if he'd never be cold again in his entire life. He told her as much as he continued to drive them both towards the edge, nuzzling her jaw, never faltering the pace of his hips.

"Come with me, Natasha," he rumbled in her ear.

She dug her teeth into the side of his arm to stifle the high pitched whine that threatened to wake Sam as she came, quaking around his still thrusting cock, the overload of sensations making it almost difficult to breathe. The tension was still so intense that when Dean reached his own end two or three seconds later, shuddering hard with a baritone groan pressed into the back of her neck it was enough to set her off again. A whimper escaped her mouth as she struggled to come down from cloud nine, mewling at the loss as he slipped from her body.

"Can we sleep in?" Dean asked in a mumble as he settled in behind her, intent on another several hours at least of sleep.

"Definitely," she purred. "But I haven't eaten in a while, I'll want breakfast when we get up."

"Does more sex count?" Dean questioned with a cocked eyebrow.

She chuckled and rolled over to kiss him playfully before snuggling into his chest.

"We'll see," she responded with a yawn.


End file.
